


A Place to Hide

by hpwlwbb, maraudersaffair, pygmy_puffy, Showknight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Bisexual Hermione Granger, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, Light Angst, Minor Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpwlwbb/pseuds/hpwlwbb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pygmy_puffy/pseuds/pygmy_puffy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showknight/pseuds/Showknight
Summary: When Auror Pansy Parkinson is attacked and left for dead, it’s up to Hermione to nurse her back to health. They slowly fall in love, but Hermione realizes Pansy isn’t telling the whole truth. She resolves to find Pansy’s attacker, but she can't prepare herself for what she uncovers.





	A Place to Hide

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to my beta, Lena! I really appreciated all her cheer leading. Also, thank you to Showknight and Pygmy-Puffy! It was a delight to work with you! 
> 
> Mods, I'm grateful that you put so much work into wlw stories. GO FEMSLASH!
> 
>  **Artists' Mediums/Notes:**  
> [pygmy-Puffy](https://pygmy-puffy.tumblr.com) (tumblr) notes: Firstly, warm thank you to Maraudersaffair for writing this fantastic fic and coming up with the perfect scenes to illustrate! <3 Thanks to everyone supporting femslash in the community and of course HUGE THANK YOU to the mods for putting this fest together!! Femslash means a lot to me and I’m thrilled to see it growing!  
> [showknight](https://showknight.tumblr.com) (tumblr) medium: digital art

Pansy hated the countryside. She hated most things rural. London would always be her home.

A lot had changed about her life. She wasn’t the girl she’d been at Hogwarts. She wasn’t the girl she’d been only a few years ago. She was an Auror, competent, self-assured. She had finally made friends with herself. 

She was in a field, an ocean of green. There wasn’t anywhere for him to hide, but somehow she couldn’t see him. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

She swerved around, panting. A breeze caressed the swaying grass, the sun a warm gaze on her face. It made her nervous to be so vulnerable, so open. He was invisible; he was casting a spell to conceal himself. He could kill her at any moment. 

There was a rustling of a cloak. She darted to the side, acting on her training. A curse sliced the air, bright like a lightning bolt. She landed on her knees and shot a disarming spell behind her. She jumped into a run, her wand sweaty in her palm. She threw a _Protego_ , trying to shield herself. There were thunderous steps and harsh panting. She thought he would run in the opposition direction, but he was actually _chasing_ her. 

There was a cliff up ahead, a half-loaf of a hill. She could hide there if she outpaced this arsehole; she just needed a second to gather her thoughts, send her Patronus to someone she could trust with a secret. 

Something hit her in the center of her back, a flame searing her flesh. She stumbled and dropped her wand.

*

Hermione loved her garden. She loved her flowers and her kissing gate. She spent her mornings and evenings there drinking coffee and eating her dinner. Her only neighbors were the deer that sometimes crept up to her back door.

She liked to be alone. She liked her pets and her spells and her gnarled plants. She was supposed to be in the Ministry, working herself dead, but she was done with all that. She was done with the outside world.

It had been a week since she last Floo’ed Harry and Ron. They were both so busy; Harry was damn near Head Auror and Ron was managing two of George’s shops. Hermione was the one with time to miss them. 

She sat in her garden chair, her dog curled over her feet. The sun was dipping below the horizon, spilling pink and orange across the sky. She needed to walk her dog. Sighing, she put down her book and stood, stretching with a soft groan. 

“Come on, Circe,” Hermione said, and Circe popped up, her tail wagging.

Hermione spelled a leash to her and they left the garden, trodding along happily. Trees guided her way, shielding her from the darkening sky. It was so tranquil here, and she appreciated that the trees made her feel protected. 

The trees parted to reveal an open field that sheep wandered over like clouds. Circe stopped in her tracks, her head tilted. She had noticed something. Maybe she smelled something in the breeze.

Hermione pulled her wand from the droopy pocket of her dress. She stepped slowly, but Circe darted forward, yanking on the leash. She was very interested in something at the foot of a crumbling hill. 

They edged around the hill, sliding down the incline. Circe barked and Hermione started. There was a woman, unconscious, in a pool of blood. 

Hermione rushed forward. She dropped the leash to crouch down to the woman. “Hello? I’m here to help.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered. Her face was unmarked and Hermione gasped. The woman was Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione raised her wand, ready to call the Aurors, but Pansy groaned and whispered, “No, please.”

“What is it? You’re badly hurt.”

“No Aurors. Not yet.” Pansy’s voice trembled with pain.

“But -”

“ _No._ ”

“Oh, all right.” Hermione looked at Circe. “Go home. There’s a good girl.” The dog raced toward the house. Hermione slid a gentle arm under Pansy’s shoulders. “You’re lucky that I know some medical charms. Can you side-along?”

“Dunno. Nothing to lose.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that, but she pulled Pansy to her feet and cradled her close. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Pansy breathed, barely conscious.

With utmost care, Hermione spun and Disapparated.

*

At home, Hermione spelled clean her kitchen table and eased Pansy onto her back. She summoned a pillow and lots of towels. “I need to remove your clothes.” Pansy didn’t respond. She’d fallen unconscious again.

Breathing deeply, Hermione removed her bloody trousers and ruby Auror robes. She cut away her vest to reveal a sports bra. Pansy also wore underpants made for men. Later, when Hermione had time to think, she’d wonder at how much Pansy had changed. The girl she knew from Hogwarts would never have worn bloke underpants. 

Both her chest and back were sliced deep from a curse. Hermione cleaned her hands and spelled Pansy onto her side. Hermione bent low to examine the wounds. They were deep but manageable. She would be able to stitch them up with a few spells. 

Her flesh had magic burn. Hermione had read somewhere that a blue tint indicated a possible deadly curse, which meant Hermione had to find the cure, and fast.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she muttered, and ran her wand over the wounds, searching for even a hint of blue. She was imagining things. For a moment, she thought the skin looked _purple_.

Hermione trembled. She didn’t know what to do. She needed a book’s help. She needed to ring Harry. He was an Auror. She could trust him. 

She was reaching for her Muggle telephone, thinking about his mobile, when a sickly thought occurred to her: Maybe someone was after Pansy. Maybe her life was in jeopardy and she needed to hide out. Maybe, just maybe, she had a few enemies at the Ministry who wanted her dead. Hermione had seen enough corruption at the Ministry to believe it. There was a reason why Hermione was far away from London. 

When she returned to the table, she found more blood pooling under Pansy. She needed to act quickly. She had done it when she seventeen. Acting without thinking. Doing for the sake of saving lives. _Just make a decision and be done with it._

She steadied her hand. She ran her wand over Pansy’s chest wound, muttering the healing incantation; then she did the same for her back. She repeated the motions, not knowing if it was the right decision, but feeling pleased when she saw the flesh knit together. 

There was a chance she was sealing the curse inside Pansy.

*

Pansy woke up to darkness. She didn’t know where she was. She was throbbing from head to toe. For a moment, she wondered if she was in his home, being held against her will, but she doubted he would have supplied her with such a comfortable bed.

Then she remembered: Hermione Granger had found her after the attack. She had saved her life. 

Pansy tried to roll to her side, but she gasped. Everything _hurt_. Even though she was an Auror, she’d never been good with pain. It turned her into a babbling baby.

The door opened and someone whispered a soft _Lumos_. “Are you awake?” The voice was comforting, like an embrace.

“Barely,” Pansy croaked. She licked her dried lips. “May I have some water?”

“Of course.” Hermione left then returned with a glass of water. She helped Pansy sit up so she could drink without wetting herself. 

“Thank you,” Pansy said, gasping again. Her belly now felt like a fish bowl. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No, but I should eat. Do you have a pain potion?”

“Yes, you are on one right now.”

“I thought so.” Pansy sighed and dropped back to the pillow. “Did you call the Aurors?”

“No.”

“Good girl.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m not a good girl.”

“I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Right. Of course. Cover your eyes. I’m turning on the light.”

Pansy closed her eyes, but the white light was still a shock. She blinked against stars. “I’m starkers.”

“Your clothes were ruined. I tried to wash them but only made it worse. I’m sorry.”

“And my wand?” Her heart pounded.

“I went back to the hill. It was dark but I found it on the ground.”

 _Good girl_ , Pansy wanted to say again, but she bit her tongue. Maybe she had a brain injury. “Will you help me to the kitchen? I should move around.”

Hermione gnawed her lip. Pansy watched her face dully. Somewhere in her head she remembered attraction and beauty. 

“I think you should stay put. I will bring you some soup and bread.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said again. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off. When she opened them again, Hermione stood before her, holding a steaming bowl and a plate of bread hovering at her side.

“Here,” Hermione said, and made both bowl and plate hover in front of Pansy. She helped her sit up once again. “Mind your stitches. They are magical and almost impossible to break, but the flesh could still tear.”

“Wonderful.” Pansy smelled the soup. Beef barley. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. That was a good sign. She took a bite and sighed. “Did you cook this yourself?”

“Yes.”

“It’s delicious.”

Hermione took up a chair by the bed. “Is it too rich? I thought about just giving you broth.”

“No, I love it. I love barley.”

“That’s good.”

There was silence. If Pansy hadn’t been so groggy, she might have felt awkward. “I thought you had run off with some Muggle. That’s what everyone said.”

Hermione raised her chin. “No.”

“Then what happened?” Pansy tried to remember. She could only grasp a few memories. “You worked at the Ministry. Everyone said you had a promising future. But then one day you disappeared.”

“Do you really want to talk about this right now?”

Pansy shrugged just a little. She ignored the pain. “I’m in a shit situation. Entertain me.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Hermione laughed. “What about you? Why were you attacked?”

“No idea.”

“Why don’t you want to Floo the Aurors? Trust me, Harry would never -”

“No! Not him!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong? Is Harry in danger?

“No, nothing like that. Merlin, not everything is about him.”

“Why don’t you want to tell your colleagues? Surely they could help you?”

“I was tracking him down. I thought I had the advantage.”

“And you believe he will hurt you if you involve other people?”

“Yes and no. All I know is that I just got to _think_ , and right now I’m in no position to think clearly.”

“But - won’t they be worried about you?”

“They don’t know I’m here.” Pansy sighed. “It’s a long story.” She swallowed the bread and it became a rock in her stomach. 

“I need to know the truth. If you won’t tell me, then I will find it out myself.”

“Understandable.”

Hermione continued to eye her. “I’m serious. I don’t know what you remember about me, but I’ve changed.”

“I get it.” Pansy pushed her meal away.

“Okay.” Hermione took the dishes and slipped from the room.

*

Hermione half expected to wake up in the morning and find Pansy gone. But Pansy was still asleep when she checked her guest room. She left some pyjamas on the chair for her.

Circe dashed down the hall, tail knocking loudly into the wall. “Hush,” Hermione said. “Let’s get you some breakfast.” Knowing the routine, Circe charged to the kitchen. 

The sun was bright and insistent in her window. Hermione fed Circe. She pulled her hair up in a wild bun and got to work at the cooker. She would make them a Full English. She could always finish what Pansy didn’t eat. 

“Hello,” Pansy said in the doorway. 

Hermione yelled and nearly dropped the eggs. “What are you doing up?”

Pansy smirked. She hobbled over to the table and plopped down with a tight groan. “I don’t know. I needed the toilet, but now I’m regretting the decision.” She cradled her head.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Yes, but I can get it.” She had managed to put on the pyjamas, but a few of the buttons were barely clasped. Hermione caught glimpses of her pale stomach.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione spelled on the coffee maker. It brewed a few cups in mere seconds. “Milk and sugar?”

“Do you have any of that flavored creamer?”

“No, sorry. I know a flavor charm, though. I could make it taste like mocha.”

“Yes, that sounds good.”

Smiling to herself, Hermione poured them cups and muttered the spell for Pansy’s drink. She never thought someone who wore bloke pants would want mocha flavoring.

“Ta,” Pansy said, sounding grateful. She took a sip and her blue eyes lit up. “Wow. This is delicious.”

“Really? I always thought it was too artificial tasting.”

“Where did you learn this charm? I need it in my life.”

“I took a magical cooking class in the village nearby. It was fun.”

“Huh. I can’t cook. At all. Like not even toast.”

“That’s too bad.” Hermione went back to the cooker to flip the eggs and sausage. “I never thought you’d become an Auror.”

Pansy snorted into her cup. “Me either.”

Hermione glanced at her. “Why did you?”

It was obvious Pansy didn’t want to answer. She played with her cup, whirling the coffee, a little frown on her full lips. “I wanted to do some good. Make up for the shit I did during the war. I - I didn’t want to be a coward anymore.”

“That’s commendable,” Hermione said.

“Please don’t. I hate it when people talk about it. There’s nothing you can say that won’t make me feel like an idiot.”

Hermione plated their food and brought it over to the table. “Sorry I don’t have any tomatoes.” 

Pansy was already sawing into her eggs. She took a bite and her eyes fluttered. “Doesn’t matter. You are an amazing cook.”

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you. I don’t cook for other people that often.”

“Why not?” Pansy said around a hunk of sausage.

“Because I like my solitude.”

“Sorry for interrupting.” Pansy smiled with greasy lips. 

“No, it’s all right. It’s good to be shocked out of my routine every once in a while.”

“You’re telling me,” she muttered. She ate like she had been starving. 

“It’s good to see that you have an appetite. It means you’re on the mend.”

“Yeah.” Pansy was buttering her toast with the concentration of playing Gobstones.

Hermione focused on her plate. Circe laid on her feet, keeping her toes warm. She had to remember to feed her cats, too. “Do you work with Harry?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you mates?”

“Sometimes.”

Hermione laughed. “I don’t understand.”

This made Pansy shrug, then wince. “We go to the pub sometimes. It’s not like we’re besties. He doesn’t come over to braid my hair and talk about girlfriends.”

 _What an image._ “He’s a great friend. I’m sure he would help you no matter what.”

“Look, I know you don’t get it, but I can’t trust him. Not yet at least.” Hermione opened her mouth, but Pansy raised her hand. “No, seriously. I don’t mean to sound paranoid. But I don’t want anyone else involved. Not yet.”

Hermione nodded, but she silently made plans to survey the area around her house. They didn’t know if this man would return and she needed to make sure he wasn’t waiting for the right moment to attack again. 

She would give Pansy time to process what had happened to her, but she wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Pansy to tell her what she could do.

*

A few days slipped by. Pansy was groggy as she healed, the dark guest room like her cocoon. The duvet was purple and blue, the colors spotted like a wing. As she dozed, she imagined herself a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly, and she smiled dreamily. The pain potions were strong and intoxicating.

Hermione helped her to the kitchen and to the toilet. She bathed her with cleaning spells that hit with a blast of lemon soap and stinging suds. She fed Pansy weak soups with soft veg and tender bits of meat. Sometimes she tried to ask her more questions about the attack, gently prodding her, and Pansy didn’t answer. “Later,” she said weakly. “Later.”

Slowly, Pansy grew stronger. She tried not to think about Clowes and everything he had stolen. She ran and ran, trying to escape, desperate, panting. He caught her every time.

*

One morning, Hermione read in a wash of sunlight and Pansy dozed on the sofa with a cat at her head and Circe at her feet. It was almost a week after the attack and Pansy was beginning to feel comfortable in Hermione’s house, even if it wasn’t near London.

Pansy opened her eyes and grimaced. “I need a bath. No more cleaning spells.”

“I can help you.”

She shook her head. “No, I think I can manage.”

“I don’t want you to slip and hurt yourself more.”

Pansy suppressed a glare. “I’m not an invalid, you know. I can do things for myself.”

“I’m sure you are a very capable person when you’re not recovering from a violent attack. Let me help you.”

“Okay. _Fine._ ”

They went to Hermione’s guest toilet. It had lilacs on the walls. “Nice wallpaper,” Pansy said sarcastically.

“Don’t be a berk. It came with the house.”

“Oh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a compliment.”

Hermione snorted. “No, it’s not. ‘Oh’ is never a compliment!”

“Yeah it is. Like ‘Oh, what a lovely wallpaper!’”

She snorted again. “Nice try.”

Pansy sighed. “Yeah, I’ll admit that was rubbish.” 

They laughed and looked at each other. They were both smiling. Hermione nodded at Pansy’s shirt. “Let’s get that off you.”

Pansy fumbled with the buttons for a moment. “Use your wand, will you. My fingers are so weak.”

“No, it’s a good small task that will help you regain your strength.”

“You’re my healer now, too?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ll do my best, but you should still go to St Mungo’s once it’s safe.” 

Frowning, Pansy spent some minutes focused on her buttons, her fingers like butter. Her hands shook as she slowly tried to ease each button from its hole. It was something she did without thinking on a daily basis, but now it felt like the biggest challenge. What if she never regained the ability to _take off her own clothes_?

“Very good,” Hermione said gently, and helped her ease the shirt from her shoulders. 

Pansy stared down at her chest. There were nasty red slashes, like whip marks, and her skin was pimpled from the cold. Her breasts were bare. Luckily, Pansy wasn’t prudish about nudity and she really didn’t care about her own, but Hermione was blushing. Interesting.

“I will spell on the shower,” Hermione said, voice rough. She turned to the shower and pulled back a purple curtain. She tapped her wand to the faucet and hot water appeared. It quickly made the room steamy. 

“I don’t think I can get my trousers off.”

Averting her eyes, Hermione lowered to her knee to gently ease them down and off, then did the same for her underpants. Pansy dropped her hands to cover herself, which was odd for her, but she could see Hermione’s heartbeat thudding in her neck.

“Easy now; don’t slip.” Hermione grabbed her hand and helped her step into the shower. Pansy hissed and let the hot water beat her back. God, she was so stiff. “Does it hurt to raise your arms?”

“A little.”

Hermione took up the loofah and shower gel. “I can scrub you down so you don’t have to move too much.”

Pansy stared at her. Her arms were at her sides and her nudity was on full display. Hermione read her expression.

“It doesn’t have to be _weird_. We’re just two women. You got all the parts I’ve got.”

Oh. She was straight. Pansy could kick herself for being an idiot.

“Right,” Pansy said. “Just get on with it then.”

Hermione soaped up the loofah and ran it over Pansy’s body quickly but thoroughly. All business. Pansy didn’t know why she was disappointed. She’d just been attacked but somehow she was sad the swotty girl from school wasn’t trying to play with her tits. 

“Turn around so I can get your back,” Hermione said. “Why are you smiling?”

Pansy eased around, making sure not to fall. “I’m thinking about something funny.”

“Are you remembering my hair from school? Maybe my old set of front teeth?”

“No, but those _were_ funny. I completely forgot that you had rabbit teeth before fourth year.”

“Yes, well, I couldn’t help it.”

Pansy turned around and watched her closely. “I’m sorry, you know. About my behavior in school. I was a real twat.”

Hermione blinked. “Are you only apologizing because you’re currently starkers in my shower?”

“No.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to smirk. “Don’t forget how powerful I am. I could turn your tits into prunes with a snap of my fingers.”

“Magic doesn’t work like that.”

“Mine does.”

“Great for you,” Pansy said. “Help me with my hair, will you.”

Laughing, Hermione stepped closer. She squirted fruity shampoo into her hair and gently worked it into a crown of bubbles. Pansy dropped her head forward and stifled a noise.

“Feels good,” she murmured.

Hermione pressed her thumbs into the back of her neck, kneading away the tension. “I’m sure it does.” There was laughter in her voice.

“Prat,” Pansy whispered. 

“Close your eyes. I’m about to rinse.”

*

Pansy was exhausted after her shower. Hermione helped her to bed then headed outside with her boots on and her wand at the ready. She’d been searching the area twice a day, ready for anything.

As she strolled down the lovely path, she tried to block out images of Pansy’s naked body. It’d been thrilling to run the loofah over her strong shoulders, her round hips. Hermione hadn’t looked between her legs and she’d only lingered on her breasts long enough to think, _Oh, she has lovely pink nipples._

It wasn’t the time to have those thoughts. It wasn’t appropriate. Pansy hadn’t come to her because she was interested in Hermione romantically. She was there because she had been attacked and didn’t trust anyone else. Now it was Hermione’s job to heal her and keep her safe. 

The hill was a strange place to be attacked. It was in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide. Hermione strode cautiously. Pansy was nervous. She was hiding something, but she was also scared of the man who had cursed her. She was scared because he was so powerful. Hermione had seen the power of his magic with her own eyes. Those curses had almost killed Pansy.

The whole thing seemed like a set up. Like the attacker hadn’t been trying to escape. Why linger in this clearing when you could run into the surrounding woods? Hermione frowned and blinked into the sunlight. She needed to ask Pansy if she had any enemies. She should probably ask Harry too, but Pansy said not to contact him. She needed to get Pansy to accept that Harry could be trusted. He could _always_ be trusted.

Why had Pansy been tracking the man in the first place? Hermione had assumed he was a criminal on the run, but maybe it was more complicated than that. 

There was rustling behind her. Hermione whipped around, blinded by the sun’s bright orange. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself if she was attacked now. She stepped forward, wand raised, listening hard. All she heard was her racing heart.

When her vision cleared, she didn’t see anyone near her. She was still nervous. They were dealing with magic, and magic could do anything. She took a deep breath, trying to smell something in the breeze. No perfume or body odor. No cigarette smoke or tea breath. She didn’t sense the presence of someone near. Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to relax.

Hermione headed for the hill. It was time she returned to the place of the attack in daylight. No more avoiding the evidence.

There was still a bit of Pansy’s blood on the grass, which was a terrible sight. It almost looked like spilled paint. Hermione crouched low to inspect the ground, running her hands over grass and pebbles and wet earth. Her fingers ran over the red and came away unmarked. The blood had dried. 

Then she felt something hard and big. Something that wasn’t made by the earth. She picked it up from its long chain. A golden pocket watch. Did it belong to Pansy?

Hermione read the inscription on the back: _Made By Delilah._ The watch wasn’t water damaged and it was still ticking. It was magical. The recent rains surely would have ruined a Muggle watch left outside. 

Hermione felt a flash of excitement. Maybe the watch belonged to Pansy’s attacker. Maybe they could use it to find his whereabouts.

*

When Hermione returned home, Pansy was awake from her kip.

Hermione showed her the watch.

“It’s not mine,” Pansy said, looking alarmed.

“Do you think it belongs to the man who attacked you?”

“Possibly, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter? Maybe it can help us find him!” 

“You don’t understand,” Pansy said, voice thick with sleep. “I already know who the arshole is. That’s not the problem.”

“Do you know where he lives? Maybe we can pay him a visit and ask him a few questions.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “We’re not tracking him down! That would be mad.”

“Why not?” Hermione crossed her arms. “He attacked you and he’s still somewhere out there.”

“You don’t understand,” she repeated.

Hermione perched on the edge of the bed. “Then help me. Why can’t we do some investigating?”

“Because he’s _dangerous_! He could kill you!”

Hermione raised her chin. “You forget I faced down Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything! Just because you were lucky as a child doesn’t mean you’ll be lucky now.”

“It had nothing to do with luck.”

“Of course it did! I’ve seen good people - _brilliant_ Aurors - killed on the job. They weren’t killed because they were stupid. They were killed because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. If that isn’t luck, then I don’t know what is.”

“We will be careful.”

“They were careful too!” Pansy’s chest beat up and down. “You have no idea how insulting you are being.”

“Okay, fine.” Hermione stood. She knew when to drop a topic of conversation. “How are you feeling? Do you want some dinner?”

Pansy crossed her arms. “I want to stop feeling this way.”

“You need to rest. You will grow stronger that way.”

“I guess.” Pansy was pouting, and it was kind of cute. Hermione had to hide her smile. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you.” Sighing, Hermione went to the door. “I’ll make us some cheese and pickles. Does that sound good?”

“I suppose.”

“Great!” She made herself sound as cheerful as possible. 

Hermione went to the kitchen and began making the sandwiches. Dusk filtered through her curtains, soft pink and gold. She looked forward to the darkness. She wanted to nab a novel and curl up in the garden with her wand aglow.

She still had every intention of finding out more about Pansy’s attacker. If she had minded her business every time Harry had gotten all angsty and decided that he was the only one who should suffer, they would all be dead right now. Pansy didn’t understand how capable Hermione was. Sure, Hermione had been hiding from the outside world, but she was ready to take a few chances. 

She was beginning to feel like her old self, someone who was confident and capable and unafraid.

Dropping a piece of cheese to the floor for Circe, she took the sandwiches to the table and went back to her guest room to help Pansy up. She stopped in the doorway, surprised to see Pansy already on her feet.

“You need rest.”

“You’re not my mum. I can bloody get out of bed if I want.” Pansy’s face was red and sweaty.

“Here, let me help you to the kitchen table.”

“No! I don’t need your help.” Gritting her teeth, Pansy took two steps forward before clutching her chest.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Your magical stitches are nowhere near healed.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Merlin, you’re stubborn.”

Pansy bared her teeth. “You’ve no idea, sweetheart.” 

A little thrill shot through Hermione but she ignored it. “Don’t call me sweetheart and don’t growl at me. You need to eat and you need to stay off your feet.”

“I wasn’t _growling_.”

Hermione took out her wand. She pointed it at Pansy.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare.” Hermione swished her wand and Pansy lifted up in the air, cradled by Hermione’s magic.

“I’m not in a fucking geriatric home! Put me down!”

Hermione swallowed a laugh. She hadn’t had this much fun in ages. “No.”

She guided Pansy from the room, slowly, carefully. Pansy twisted in the air, teeth bared again. Hermione expected her to screech and kick, but she seemed more mortified than enraged. 

Gently, Hermione dropped her into a kitchen chair. Pansy picked up her sandwich and took a big, aggressive bite. She didn’t look at Hermione.

“Good?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Perhaps I can Floo someone for you? If you don’t want to speak to me.”

“There’s no one to contact.”

“What about Draco Malfoy?”

Pansy snorted and took another huge bite. “Draco doesn’t care about me. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

Pansy threw her head back and cackled. “No way.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But - I mean, you might have ex-boyfriends out there. They might be worried about you.”

“I don’t have ex-boyfriends.”

“Oh.” Hermione nibbled on some cheese. “You don’t like dating?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Pansy slammed her hands down on the table, scaring the pets. Circe ran for the sofa. “I’m a fucking lesbian, all right? I’m too busy eating pussy for boyfriends!”

Hermione dropped her sandwich. The slimy pickles landed in her lap and the cheese rolled to the floor. 

“Weren’t expecting that, were you?” Pansy smirked viciously. 

“No - I don’t care. It’s not a problem.” Hermione sounded panicked, even to herself.

“Who said anything about a problem?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to offend you!” Hermione got down on her hands and knees to pick up the cheese. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She was cleaning up like a Muggle.

Pansy huffed. “I knew you’d be a prude.”

Hermione glared from the floor. “I’m not a prude! You don’t know anything about me!”

“You were married to Ronald Weasley.”

“We were never married.”

“Engaged - married. What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference!”

Pansy sat back in her chair, still smirking. “What happened? Did he cheat on you?”

“No! He would never - I was the one -” Hermione took a deep breath.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “You were the cheater?”

“No one cheated.”

“Then what happened?”

Hermione wanted to snap, _None of your business!_ “I - well. It’s complicated. I just wasn’t satisfied.”

“Was his cock too small or something? Did he have a micropenis?”

“No! And don’t go telling people that! He’s just fine in that area.”

“But?”

Hermione gnawed on her lip. She couldn’t meet Pansy’s glittering gaze. “You are having too much fun right now.”

“It doesn’t feel good to be taunted, does it?”

“I never taunted you.”

“You were just laughing at me for being weak. But I don’t want to change topics. Why wasn’t Weasley good enough for you?”

“He was _good enough_. I just wanted to see other people.”

Pansy was really looking at her now. It was like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you in love with Potter?”

“What? No!”

Pansy shrugged. “Loads of people thought so at school.”

“Those people were wrong.”

“He’s attractive enough, isn’t he? I wouldn’t know, but the heteros seemed to really want him.”

Hermione raised her chin. “Harry’s a beautiful person.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Did you want to shag him or didn’t you?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter! I don’t care what you think. I don’t feel comfortable answering your questions right now.”

“Right,” she said, sounding angry. “You get to ask all the probing inappropriate questions while I just bite my tongue. Right.”

“I wasn’t a prick about it!” Hermione got up from the floor and took their empty plates to the sink. Circe rushed from the sofa to nab any sandwich bits that she missed. 

“I’m taking myself to the sofa to listen to the wireless,” Pansy announced loudly. Hermione didn’t answer as she washed the dishes.

*

Hermione didn’t care what Pansy thought. She knew how to protect herself. It wouldn’t hurt to _try_ to find out more information.

She didn’t need Pansy’s help to figure out who attacked her. She had the library.

The nearest magical library was a bus ride away. She couldn’t remember its exact location so it was risky to Apparate, but she prefered Muggle transportation anyway. Apparating reminded her too much of the war. 

The morning was windy and bright. Hermione wore jeans and a comfortable shirt, ready to sit for hours and hours. As she left, Pansy asked her where she was going and she said she was going to the grocer. Pansy glared and hugged a pillow to her chest. 

The bus was crowded with a few local teens who were laughing too loudly at their hand phones. Hermione wondered if she would be just as addicted to those little computers if she had grown up as a Muggle. For what it was worth, she was glad that she was magical and therefore not addicted to technology.

On the outside, the library looked like a condemned factory and smelled like piss. Graffiti snaked along the pockmarked walls. Any Muggle who wished to seek shelter inside its rusty skeleton would develop a sudden and great need for the toilet.

The front door was made of shattered glass and it gaped at her like a snarling mouth. Hermione tapped her wand against two moldy bricks next to the door and the wall melted away to reveal a warmly lit foyer. An old witch greeted her with a glare.

“No food or drink allowed,” grumbled the witch.

“Yes, of course.” Hermione left the foyer and entered an enormous room filled to the brim with books. The ceiling was high, so high she couldn’t see where it ended, and books and scrolls zoomed down from the top like strange birds. She hoped the records she needed were at a manageable height.

She was looking for a watchmaker named Delilah, hopefully still living in Britain. She took the watch from her pocket, its handsome bronze face gleaming in the candlelight. 

She approached the large desk in the middle. Two tiny witches had to stand on stacks of teetering Muggle encyclopedias to see over the desk top. 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” one said to Hermione, following her frown to the books. “We were told the Muggles don’t need these anymore.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” she said. “I’m looking for records of watchmakers in Britain, maybe elsewhere.”

“Row nineteen hundred and two, dear. Lists all the magical businesses in Britain since 1500. You might need to dig to find the watchmakers.”

“Thank you.”

Hermione had been in magical libraries loads of times, but they never failed to intimidate her. The Hogwarts Library was a mere shadow of the ones found all across Britain. 

It took her some time to find the books she needed. The tiny witch had been right; it was very difficult to pinpoint the watchmaker records. On her hands and knees, she crawled on the floor, picking up dust on her clothes. Finally she discovered them. 

At a small table she dropped the large dusty book. The pages were thin and delicate, and could crumble from her touch. 

As she looked through the records, she thought about Pansy again. She felt herself blush. She shouldn’t have peeked during the shower. Pansy was injured and Hermione shouldn’t have taken sexual pleasure in gazing at her, but she had. Pansy’s body was _gorgeous_. She was toned and pale and had surprisingly large breasts that she was able to conceal under her clothing.

There was nothing in the first book and she had to return to the bottom shelf to find the next one. Sighing, she went back to her table and delved into the new pages, doing her best not to think about Pansy. 

After an hour or so, she discovered the first mention of _Delilah, the Watchmaker of Twickenham_. The shop had been open for nearly two centuries, passed on through a family of mothers and daughters. Hermione quickly copied the information with her wand.

It was a start.

*

Hermione left the library and headed straight for the watchmaker. Hermione didn’t like venturing to London, but she would do it to find out more about Pansy’s attacker. Perhaps she could even pop over to Harry’s to say hello, but he would want to know what she was doing in London and she didn’t know if she could keep Pansy’s secret from him.

London was warmer. After she Apparated, she had to lean against the alley wall, trying to quell the spinning of her head. The sun was hot enough to burn. It seemed like more and more heatwaves were hitting England, which was alarming, and she didn’t understand what the Muggles were doing to the weather. 

The streets were crowded and she tried to stay out of people’s way, but it was hard not to become overwhelmed. She wasn’t used to crowds and city noise. Her head continued to spin. 

Delilah’s was located on a rundown magical street invisible to Muggles. She stepped through the magical barrier, a shiver curling down her spine. The street was dirty and gloomy, and she avoided sooty puddles. 

The building was red brick and tilted to the side. The shopfront was so grimy that she had to rub at the glass to reveal the words: _Delilah’s. Est. 1833_.

Inside the shop, she was greeted by dusty candles and patchy curtains. She almost thought it was out of business, but an old witch poked her head out from the backroom. “Can I help you?” the witch said, obviously annoyed at being disturbed.

“I’m hoping you can. I found a watch and I want to return it to its owner.”

The witch came to the dirty counter. Her face was pale like porridge and her nose was bulbous like a potato. “How do you know that I made it?”

Hermione placed the watch on the counter and pointed to the inscription.

“Yes, that’s mine,” said the witch, “but I’ve made thousands of these.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“Let’s see.” The witch took up the watch and gazed hard at its dull face. “Sometimes I include a message inside the watch.” 

Hermione held her breath as the witch pried open the face, her slimy tongue clenched between yellow teeth. The face popped open, revealing a hidden chamber. 

“Does it say anything?”

The witch squinted hard. “Yes . . . but I need my spectacles.” She disappeared into the back room, then came back after a minute. 

The witch put on her spectacles, still moving slowly. She blinked owlishly a few times. “It says _Congratulations._ ”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Damn,” Hermione muttered.

“Wait . . . there’s more.”

“Okay.”

“I think it also says _Love, Constance_.”

“You think?”

“I’m almost blind, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What a stupid thing to say. It’s not your fault.”

“Right.” Hermione held out her hand. “Can I look at it?”

“I guess.” The witch handed her the watch.

Quite clearly it read: _Congratulations! Love, Constance_. Hermione didn’t know how the witch was still running a shop when she was almost blind.

Hermione smiled. “Can you look in your records for any buyer named Constance?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t keep records.”

“You have to keep records.”

“Not _those_ kind of records.”

“What kind of records do you keep then?”

“Oh, you know, information on parchment.”

“What kind of information?” Hermione struggled to keep the frustration from her voice.

Huffing, the witch beckoned Hermione to the back room with a gnarled finger. “I will show you, but I doubt it will be any help.”

Hermione followed her. The back room was darker than the shop, but the witch had lit a few moldy candles.

The witch had a big leather book soar to the nearest table. She opened the book and flipped through its pages with her wand.

“What are you looking for?”

“All my buyers with the name of Constance.”

“So you do keep records.”

“These aren’t _records_.”

Hermione just nodded.

After a few minutes of looking, the witch lifted her head. Hermione tried to pretend she hadn’t been looking, too. “I found three buyers with the name of Constance. One in 1896, one in 1923, one in 1969.”

“Oh.” Hermione was thinking. “Can I get the names and addresses of those customers?”

The witch glared at her. “What for?”

“Like I said, I want to return the watch to them.”

“You could always leave it with me.”

“No, it’s important that I’m the one to do it.”

She made an hmph noise and looked back down at her book. “Fine, but I don’t want you coming back here! I won’t have you bothering me! I’m an old woman who deserves her peace and quiet.”

“Of course, madam,” Hermione said.

The witch, still glaring, summoned some parchment and copied down the addresses. She shoved the parchment into Hermione’s hand. “Now leave before I put a curse on you.”

She tried to suppress a triumphant smile.

*

Hermione Apparated to the first address, which was an empty car park. The next address was a condemned shop that, after reading some rusty signs, Hermione concluded closed in 1973. The last address was a handsome house with a vibrant garden.

She made herself invisible and sat on the kerb to watch the house. She followed the sun in the sky, squinting. She twirled her wand between her fingers, trying not to be bored, trying not to feel foolish. 

There wasn’t proof that she was at the house of Pansy’s attacker and her time would probably be better spent at home with Pansy, but mysteries had always made her obsessive.

After an hour, she stood up stiffly and stretched. Making sure she was still invisible, she crossed the street to get a closer look. The house stood quietly, its dark windows like eyes. 

She stepped lightly into the garden. The lovely flowers reached out in greeting. She wanted to crouch low to smell them and play with their warm petals. She had to be careful; she knew she had no business being in a stranger’s garden, but she just wanted a look around.

She came to the steps of the house and peered at any belongings. Everything was orderly and tidy. She inched around the house. There was a fence but she refused to spell open the lock. She didn’t want to break any laws, not yet at least.

Finally, she decided to return home. Her stomach clenched when she considered seeing Pansy. She was a bit guilty that she had gone against her wishes.

She groaned and Disapparated.

*

When Hermione arrived home, everything was quiet and she couldn’t find Circe. She feared the worst and grasped her wand tightly in her hand.

She crept down the hall silently, suppressing all her thoughts of violence and gore. She poked her head inside Pansy’s room. Pansy was asleep on the bed with Circe curled up against her and resting her head on her stomach. Pansy had a hand threaded in her fur as if she’d fallen asleep mid-pet.

Something in Hermione’s chest twisted. She wanted to crawl into bed with them and wrap her body around Pansy. She wanted to kiss her softly, slowly, as her fingers inched down into her pants.

She forced herself to leave the room and head for the kitchen. Day was turning into night and she was hungry. She touched her cheeks and realized the sun had burned her just a little. The whole day had been wasted and now her face was going to be sensitive. 

She was a few minutes into the prep when she heard soft footsteps. She turned and found Pansy leaning in the doorway, watching her with sleepy eyes.

“Did you have a nice day?” Hermione asked, trying not to stare. Pansy wore pyjama bottoms and a sports bra. Her nipples pressed against the white fabric. Hermione wanted to taste those nipples. 

“Yeah,” Pansy said, muffling a yawn. “What are you making?”

“Just some chicken and veg. Does that sound good?”

“Of course.” Pansy tried to walk to the table, but she stumbled and nearly fell. Hermione darted to catch her. Pansy was so warm in her arms.

“Easy now,” Hermione whispered.

Pansy pressed closer. “I’m so tired for some reason.”

“That’s why happens when your body is trying to heal and you won’t let it.”

Pansy snorted softly and leaned her forehead on Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to come onto you; I just need to rest my head for a moment.”

“I know,” Hermione said thickly. “How did you manage to get your sports bra on?”

“A spell.” Pansy’s breath was warm and just the slightest damp against her neck. “This isn’t my first injury, you know. It’s just my worst.”

Hermione turned her head just enough so she could smell her hair. She refused to think about what she was doing. All she knew was that Pansy felt so good.

“I can’t believe you are the type to wear them.”

Pansy raised her head to look into her eyes. For a moment, Hermione was convinced they were about to kiss, but then Pansy looked away. “You mean you can’t believe that I turned out to be a lesbian.”

“Straight women were sports bras!”

Pansy stepped back, still wobbly. “I know.” 

There was a loud sizzle coming from the pan. Hermione darted to the cooker to make sure she wasn’t burning the chicken. “Sit down. What do you want to drink?”

“Just water.”

Hermione had a glass of water soar to the table. Pansy took a sip, still watching her. 

“I missed you today.”

Hermione stopped. She was blushing and she couldn’t turn around to look at her. “No, you didn’t.”

“It was boring here without you.”

“I felt bad about leaving you alone, but it seems like you were able to get around on your own.”

“I’m not an -”

“You’re not an invalid. I know. You’ve shouted it at me many times.”

“I didn’t shout.”

Hermione slid the chicken onto a plate and dropped in the veg to soak up all the remaining flavor. “I’m glad you had a good day.”

“You’re not listening to me. I didn’t have a good day because you weren’t here.”

“You were bored because you had no one to yell at.”

Pansy sighed. “I’m not a bitch, you know. I know you are just trying to help me. I am very grateful for everything you are doing.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Once the veg was ready, they sat down at the table to eat dinner. Hermione watched Pansy for any grimace or lack of appetite. Pansy dug into her food without hesitation. 

“Why do you live here?” Pansy asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you in London with Harry? Don’t you want to be near him?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“I know he’s bisexual.”

“Yeah, most people do, especially after the _Prophet_ article.” Hermione didn’t understand her point. 

Pansy nodded and focused on her food for a few minutes. Hermione had a hard time not looking at her. She couldn’t help it. She liked staring at Pansy.

“Is there something wrong?” Pansy asked.

“No.”

“You are looking at me like you need to tell me something.”

Hermione hesitated. Should she tell Pansy about tracking down the watchmaker? She never liked lying. 

Pansy dropped her fork on the ground. She leaned down to grab it but cried out in pain.

Hermione came around the table to help her. “Are you okay?”

Pansy’s face was pale. She looked shaken. “It didn’t hurt like this in the morning.”

“You are pushing yourself too much. We should get you into a bath with a few muscle relaxing potions. Take the edge off.”

“I also need more pain killer.”

“Are you done eating? I can help you to the bathroom.”

Pansy nodded, her eyes closed. She had long thick eyelashes.

Hermione put her arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. They hobbled to the bathroom together. It wasn’t the first time that she had helped Pansy walk, but it was the first time she was so aware of her physically. Hermione wanted to pull her close and breathe her in. 

In the bathroom, Hermione helped Pansy lean against the wall as she drew the bath. She made the water hot and steamy, and she spelled the potions into the whirl beneath the faucet, creating perfumed bubbles.

“Smells good,” Pansy said.

Hermione turned to her. She hesitated, not knowing if she should allow Pansy to try to undress herself. She didn’t want Pansy to think she was a perv or something. She didn’t want to _force_ Pansy to be starkers.

“Do you need help?” Hermione notioned vaguely to her clothes.

“Yeah,” Pansy breathed, her cheeks already taking on color from the heat of the bath.

Gently, Hermione helped remove her bra. Pansy hissed as the fabric caught on the stitches. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said quickly. She wanted to kiss Pansy’s shoulder.

“Couldn’t be avoided.”

“The stitches are good. I did my best -”

“Granger, shut up.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and dropped to a knee to help her step out of her trousers. When she looked up, she was face-first with Pansy’s crotch. Pansy grabbed her shoulder to steady herself. 

Hermione saw herself do it. She saw herself leaning forward and opening her mouth to Pansy’s knickers, her tongue sliding over the fabric and following the line of her cunt. She saw herself licking until she tasted Pansy, thick like honey. She bet she could make Pansy gasp. 

“Yeah, I’m wearing bloke underpants. You don’t need to stare.”

Hermione licked her lips. She glanced up at Pansy’s face and found her clenching her jaw and glaring at the wall. “I like them.”

Pansy snorted. “ _Sure._ ”

“No, I do.”

“I already know you’re an ally. You don’t have to try so damn hard.”

It wasn’t Pansy’s fault her assumptions were wrong. It wasn’t like Hermione had come out to Pansy, but still. She wished Pansy would see what was right in front of her. 

“Do you want me to help with your pants or not?”

“It hurts too much for me to bend down.”

“Do you want to try the spell you used for your bra?”

Pansy sucked in air. “No. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, and steeled herself. She lowered Pansy’s pants to her ankles, the fabric warm, very warm. She tried not to look at her, but her eyes had a mind of their own. Pansy’s pubic hair was short and well maintained, but a little grown out because of her injury. Hermione thought about Pansy shaving her cunt before a date and her mouth watered. She wanted to tongue her bare lips. 

What would Pansy do if she leaned forward and licked her? Right now. Without warning. Would she try to shove her away? Would laugh and laugh? Or would her mouth fall open and her head fall back on the wall? 

Even though she was out of practice, Hermione bet she could get her thighs trembling in no time. Hermione could feel herself getting slightly wet just thinking about it. 

“The bath’s about to overflow,” Pansy said. 

Hermione jumped to shut off the water. When she turned back around, she caught her breath. Pansy stood there naked, her arms at her sides, her body on full display. Her breasts were larger than expected, her nipples a dark pink. Her hips were slim like a boy’s but her arse was round and perky. She had scars on her knees, up her thighs. She had fresh cuts from her most recent attack. 

Pansy watched her face closely. Hermione expected her to smirk, to make a rude joke, but she looked almost shy, like she was afraid to believe what she saw in Hermione’s expression. 

“Help me in,” Pansy said, her voice rough. Then she added a quick, “Please.”

Hermione laughed nervously, hating how she sounded. With a slightly trembling hand, she helped Pansy to carefully step into the bathtub. She had to put her arm around her back as Pansy lowered into the water. Pansy let out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering.

“Feel good?” Hermione murmured.

“Yeah.”

Hermione took up the loofah and squirted some shower gel on it. Then she gently soaped up Pansy’s back and shoulders, being as careful as possible as she slid over her stitches. “Still feel good?”

“Fuck yeah,” Pansy sighed. 

“No stinging?”

Pansy shook her head. Her lips were wet from the steam. The heat had darkened them and made them glisten. Hermione wanted to run her tongue over her mouth.

Without really thinking about it, she switched the loofah to the other hand and ran it over Pansy’s breasts, over and over, her hand going a little too slowly. Pansy’s nipples perked from the attention and Hermione couldn’t look away. She leaned closer, her breath a little too loud, her mouth dry. She was throbbing and all she wanted to do was press a palm between her legs. 

“Fuck,” Pansy whispered, her head thudding on the tile wall. She was shaking just a little.

Hermione snatched her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

Pansy laughed lowly. Her cheeks were very pink. “Give that to me. I can take it from here.”

“Okay.” Hermione avoided her eyes. She handed over the loofah and stood. “I’ll just be in my room. Call me when you’re ready to get out.”

“Thanks,” Pansy said, flushing even more.

Hermione left before she flushed, too.

*

Later, when she was finally alone in bed, Pansy shoved a desperate hand into her pants to finger herself. _Fuck._ The bath had left her dripping wet and throbbing. She let out a soft gasp as she easily slid two fingers into herself.

Stupid, stupid straight women. Merlin, she hated them! There had been nothing platonic about that bath and Hermione should’ve been ashamed of herself for how she _toyed_ with Pansy. Lesbians had feelings, too, and it wasn’t cool when straight women used them to play out their little fantasies. It was obvious Hermione was going through something. She had quit her job; she had moved all the way out here with nobody but Muggles for neighbors. She had probably been in love with Potter for nearly her whole life. It was ridiculous and Pansy didn’t want anything to do with it. 

What the hell was so special about Potter anyway? First Draco and now Hermione. He was skinny and awkward and laughed uncomfortably around Pansy. His scar was _gross_.

Fuck. She could still feel that scrubby thing against her breasts. Hermione’s breath had been heavy, shivering a little. Pansy had glanced at her and found her pupils blown wide. Pansy bit her lip and quickened her fingers. Fuck. _Fuck._ Hermione had no idea what she was missing. She had no idea what women could do to her. Men didn’t know how to pleasure a woman. They didn’t. They were too afraid, too wrapped up in their own pleasure. It was all about cock, always about cock, but Pansy knew how to eat a woman out. She knew how to lick and tease, how to get her so open and ready that Pansy could fit all five of her fingers inside effortlessly. She knew how to make women squirt, really squirt, a gush of liquid that drenched the sheets and made them both giddy with adrenaline. 

She wished Hermione was on her face now. She’d lick and lick, moaning into her dripping cunt, as she clenched around her own fingers. She’d keep licking through her orgasm, her cries muffled, and Hermione would throw her head back, riding the wave of Pansy’s wild pleasure. 

“Fuck,” she stuttered, coming quietly, her whole body lit up like a _Lumos_. She lay in the darkness, trying to catch her breath, her shoulder and back aching from the effort. She fancied Hermione. There was no way around it. “Fuck,” she said again.

*

In the morning, Hermione woke up to an owl from Harry. Her stomach clenched. There was no way he knew about Pansy, right?

Holding her breath, she read his owl, which was brief and casual: _Miss you. Lunch today? Sorry about the short notice. -H_

She could see him quickly writing it before draining his coffee and dashing off to the first meeting of the day. She missed him, too. She missed him so much, but sometimes she needed to be reminded that she had friends. She responded without thinking about Pansy: _Yes! Meet you at the Ministry. See you soon!_

After the snowy owl had flown away, she paused in doubt. She hoped Pansy didn’t think she was leaving her alone too much, but she really wanted to see Harry. 

Pansy slept in that morning, and when she finally left her bed, she plopped down on the sofa with a loud yawn and took up the newspaper. 

“What is your plan for today?” Hermione asked. 

“A plan? I was just going to the same shit I’ve been doing all along: sitting on my arse and thinking.”

“Oh.” Hermione looked out the window. “I need to go out today. I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”

Pansy flapped a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“You wouldn’t be stopping me. I just want to make sure you feel up to another challenge.”

“What challenge? I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know, but I don’t want you overdoing it.”

“Granger,” Pansy growled.

Hermione held up her hands. “Fine. I will stop worrying about you. I trust you can take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said stiffly.

*

It was strange to be back in London again. She used to live in the city, but now visiting twice in a week was something remarkable.

The day was cloudy and a bit humid. She liked entering the Ministry from the street. It made it feel more special, more magical. It put her in a forgiving mood. 

Harry looked pale and tired. He smiled brightly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Are you sleeping?” she asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

“No.” She hugged him close and her concern deepened when she felt how thin he was. “You lost weight, too.”

He sighed and ruffled the back of his head. “Stress. Nothing but stress.”

She nodded, knowing it was more than that. He had suffered a heartbreak a few months back, but he hadn’t wanted to talk to her about it. He didn’t even tell her who had broken his heart. It was obvious that he still wasn’t over it. 

“Where do you want to go for lunch?”

“Not the canteen, that’s for damn sure.”

She laughed.

They left the Ministry and wandered downtown London. There were so many cafs and fancy restaurants and tourist hubs, but it was hard to know which one to choose.

“A lot of these places are rubbish,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Total waste of money.” He frowned in thought. “You feeling Thai? I really like a place close to here, but I eat there all the time.”

“I don’t mind. Let’s go where you want.”

“Okay,” he said with an easy smile. 

The restaurant was busy. They were seated quickly at a small table near the toilet. Hermione hid behind the menu, not wanting Harry to see how all the commotion was beginning to overwhelm her. 

When she set on the dish she wanted, she lowered her menu and smiled at Harry, expecting him to jump into a long, frustrated tale about work. But he just sighed and pushed his glasses up so he could pinch between his eyes. 

She touched his hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Work is just really stressful right now.”

“Why?”

He tried to explain but the waiter interrupted them. He ordered red curry and she Tom Yum. The waiter left and Hermione looked at Harry expectantly.

“Do you remember Pansy Parkinson?”

She felt her face go white. “Of course,” she said, her voice weak.

“Well, she’s missing, and everyone is terribly torn up about it.”

“Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he said.

“What do you think happened?”

He rubbed his prickly chin. “I’m not sure. She was a great Auror - one of the best.” He took a deep breath. “She _is_ a great Auror.”

Hermione swallowed down her guilt. “But something happened to her.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know what. She disappeared on her day off, so it wasn’t like she was on official assignment.”

“How do you know she just didn’t take a holiday or something?”

He gave her a leveled look. “Who just leaves on holiday without telling anyone?”

Hermione shrugged. She was already thinking about what she’d do when she got home, what she would say to Pansy to encourage her to reach out to her coworkers. “Do you remember anything strange before she disappeared?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

She waited for him to continue. He seemed to ponder it, like it made him uncomfortable to even think it. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“Do you know Chade Clowes?”

Clowes. She frowned. There was something familiar about that name. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Makes sense. You never had much interaction with the Unspeakables when you were at the Ministry.”

“So he is an Unspeakable?”

“Mostly. He has an office outside the Department of Mysteries because he does some work for the Aurors.” He rubbed his chin again. “I saw them fighting, arguing. Pansy and Chade.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay to listen. Pansy can be uptight about things. She can be a stickler for the rules.”

“Huh,” she said. “That’s ironic.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, it is. But she’s changed. She isn’t that mean girl anymore.”

 _I know_ , Hermione almost answered. 

Their dishes came then and Hermione let the steam from her soup dampen her face and clear her mind. She ate a few spoonfuls. 

“How is it?” Harry asked.

“Very good.” She smiled through the spice on her lips. “Have you seen Ron?”

“Yeah. We get a pint every Friday.”

“Right. I forget.” She tried not to feel left out.

Harry read her. “You could always join us, you know. We both miss you.”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t want me around. I know I make him uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make him uncomfortable. At least, not anymore. You broke his heart, Hermione.”

“I know that!”

Harry stared down at his curry. “People need time to get over things like that.” His voice was quiet.

Hermione had fancied Harry when they were kids. Of course she had fancied him. Sometimes she remembered why. He could be so gentle and vulnerable. It was attractive the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. Pansy was right about that. Hermione would always be just a little in love with Harry, just a little in love with Ron. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be in love with Pansy or another woman. 

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Really.”

“I’m doing okay.” He gave her a weak smile. 

“You were dating someone and then she - he - broke up with you.”

“Something like that.” He dug into his food, not wanting to talk about it.

“But you are still in love with them.”

He shrugged, his mouth working around a bite. 

“You can’t reach out to them? Explain that you still have feelings?”

He didn’t respond for a long moment. He swallowed, then inspected his plate. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Hermione,” he said, sounding a little wounded. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Frustrated, she focused on her soup, eating quickly, her mind whirling. It was none of her business, but she hated seeing Harry hurting like this. She wished he would open up to her so she could help him.

After lunch, she walked him back to the Ministry. She didn’t want to say goodbye to him. She wished they could spend the whole day together. 

He stopped at the phone booth entrance and gave her a big hug. “I enjoyed this. We need to do it again soon.”

“Yeah,” she said into his chest. 

“You should Floo Ron. He wants to hear from you.”

“Harry,” she said in warning.

He let her go so he could hold up his hands. “I’m not trying to get you two back together. I just want you to be friends again.”

“We are friends.”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed and looked at him. If she was going to tell him about Pansy, this was the moment. If she didn’t tell him, he would be very hurt, maybe angry enough to not talk to her for some time. 

But she had to trust Pansy, and it sounded like he didn’t really know what happened.

“I will owl him,” Hermione said, and gave him another hug. “Goodbye. Have a good afternoon full of meetings.”

He groaned and squeezed into the booth. She watched as he lowered down beneath the street.

*

When she arrived home, she found Pansy in the garden, lounging in a chair with a newspaper spread out on her lap and Circe wagging her tail at her feet.

Pansy looked up and squinted through the sunshine at her. She smiled, and that smile warmed Hermione more than the sun. 

“Hi,” Hermione said, and dropped into a chair beside her. She felt suddenly shy.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, I had lunch with Harry in London.”

Pansy stilled. “Did you say anything about me?”

“No, but he was worried. Nobody at the Ministry knows what happened to you.”

Pansy shrugged. “They will be fine. My disappearance gives them something to gossip about for a while.”

“He’s really worried about you. He cares about you.”

“He will be _fine_.” Pansy jutted her chin out just a little, so stubborn. 

Hermione hesitated. “He saw you arguing with someone.”

Pansy’s expression didn’t change. “I’m always arguing with people.”

“Oh.” Hermione faltered, knowing she should be more strategic about how she asked questions. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, and put away her newspaper. She raised her arms to Hermione, who pulled her up and let her lean against her. Pansy smelled like hot sunshine. 

They took a few steps forward, but Pansy was stiff from sitting for a long time, and she tripped. They both went down to the ground, with Hermione landing on top of her. 

“Fuck,” Pansy breathed, her eyes twisted closed.

“Are you hurt?” Hermione stared down at her worriedly. 

“No.” Pansy blinked at her, and her eyes were a pretty mixture of gray and blue. Pansy quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione realized what a strange position they were in. Hermione knew she should scramble off, but she didn’t move. 

Once again, Hermione wanted to kiss her. Pansy’s lips were full and lush, and they looked delicious. There was a cup of tea next to the chair, and Hermione wanted to kiss her and taste the tea on her lips. 

Then she became aware of how their bodies fit, their breasts pressed together, their soft stomachs cradling each other. Hermione wanted to drag her hands along Pansy’s curves, mapping her waist and hips. She wanted to bury her nose in her hair and smell her. 

“Granger,” Pansy said, strangled.

“I’m crushing you!” Hermione jumped to her feet and helped Pansy back up. “I’m sorry - I wasn’t thinking.”

“I hate when you apologize.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Always worried about my body, never about me.”

Hermione shot her a look. “I worry about you.”

Pansy shrugged and walked toward the house by herself. “You don’t need to help me. I’m managing when you aren’t here.”

“Let’s have some tea,” Hermione said, and took her hand. 

They went into the house, Circe at their heels and wagging her tail. It felt good to be home after the hustle and bustle of London.

Hermione made them tea but Pansy chose to remain at her side. 

“You should sit,” Hermione said.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Pansy had been radiating nervous energy since their fall in the garden. 

“Are you all right?” Hermione passed her a cup. “Didn’t hit your head?”

“No.” Pansy sipped her tea. She wouldn’t look at her.

“But something’s wrong, I can tell.”

Taking a deep breath, Pansy set her cup down and turned fully to her. She held Hermione’s hands. “I’m always embarrassing myself with women like you.”

Hermione searched her gaze. “I don’t understand.” If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be her.

> Image Description: A drawing of Hermione and Pansy, who stand facing each other in a blue kitchen. Their hands are clasped. Hermione’s hair is in a bun. She wears a yellow top and a long pink skirt. Pansy’s hair is short. She wears a pale pink top and jeans. Art by [showknight](https://showknight.tumblr.com/).

Pansy’s eyes dropped to her lips. Hermione caught her breath. She leaned forward, hoping Pansy would meet her halfway, but Pansy turned away. 

“I’m knackered.”

“Do you want to listen to the wireless with me tonight?” Hermione said, trying not to be disappointed.

“Sure.” Pansy left the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. 

Hermione let her go. Her mind whirled. It was obvious that Pansy was disappointed about something, too. Did she want Hermione to kiss her? Had she been trying to convey something?

As she worked through her thoughts, one question rose above the others: Why did the name Chade Clowes sound familiar?

*

That night, they dropped some duvets and pillows on the lounge floor and laid down to listen to the wireless.

“Do you like Quidditch?” Hermione asked. “I think there’s a match on.”

“Absolutely not. Put on the news or something.”

“You like listening to the news?”

“Of course. I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were.” Hermione switched it to a news program and settled down. They were quiet for a while, listening to people debate about the global wizardry economy. Hermione didn’t feel the need to speak, and she liked that. 

“Why did you leave the Ministry?” Pansy asked.

Hermione turned her head to look at her. There was only one lamp on, and the lounge was full of yellow shadows. “I didn’t want to be a pawn anymore.”

“A pawn for the Minister?”

“Yes, and I’m . . . very idealistic. There was too much corruption. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“It’s gotten better, you know. Not as much corruption anymore.”

“That’s good.” Hermione thought for a moment. “I also needed time to get to know myself. I was turning into a person who surprised me and it made me feel very powerless.”

“You thought you’d marry Weasley?”

“Yeah, and I thought I’d become Minister of Magic. I thought I’d never back down from a threat, but I realized I didn’t have much fight in me anymore.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Pansy winked at her.

“You didn’t see me when I first came here. I could barely leave the house.”

“Oh.” Pansy was quiet, then she took Hermione’s hand into her own. She squeezed it once and let it drop back to the duvet. “You were strong enough to get through it.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, wishing she would take her hand again. Hermione wanted to rest her head on her chest or shoulder. She wanted Pansy to put her arm around her. “Do you know Chade Clowes?”

Pansy’s expression became grave. “What?”

“Chade Clowes. Do you know him?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Harry mentioned him. Who is he?”

“Nobody . . . he’s a stupid Unspeakable.”

“Why did you just have that reaction? Is he the one who attacked you?”

Pansy jerked away. She breathed quickly, her face red. “I asked you not to meddle.”

“Yes, but -”

“You have no idea what you are doing, what problems you are creating. You could get yourself _killed_.”

“What’s wrong? Tell me!”

“No.”

“I’m capable. You can trust me.” Hermione grabbed her shoulder, trying to get her to look at her. Pansy turned her head and kissed her. 

Hermione was shocked. She went still, as if she didn’t like it, but the truth was that she couldn’t even feel the kiss. 

> Image Description: A drawing of Hermione and Pansy sitting on a rug in front of a fire. The room is dimly lit; a white dog is curled on the hearth. Hermione holds Pansy’s shoulder, and Pansy holds Hermione’s arms, as they kiss. Art by [pygmy-Puffy](https://pygmy-puffy.tumblr.com).

Pansy drew back. “Don’t ask me about Clowes,” she said quietly.

“You just kissed me.”

“Only to shut you up.”

“Really?” Hermione tilted her head, smiling a little. 

“What?” Pansy said, her cheeks going pink. “It’s not like I fancy you or anything.”

“No?” Hermione leaned closer and let her lips brush against her cheek, her mouth. “Not even a little?”

Pansy’s pupils were so big. She looked entranced. “You want to kiss me?”

“What if I said yes?”

“But you’re in love with Potter.”

“No.”

“And you’re straight.”

“No.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m not straight. I’m bisexual.”

“No way,” Pansy said faintly.

Smirking just a little, her heart pounding, Hermione leaned closer to drag her tongue over Pansy’s lips. She whispered, “I’ve eaten pussy.”

Pansy kissed her hard, pushing her onto her back. She pinned Hermione’s wrists to the floor and forced her tongue into her mouth. Hermione moaned and let it happen. 

Their tongues moved together hotly, Pansy urging her to submit, and Hermione bit Pansy’s lip. She wasn’t going to give in easily. 

Pansy unbuttoned Hermione’s trousers and snaked a hand inside. “Fuck, you’re already wet.”

Hermione grabbed her wrist. “Not yet.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were experienced?”

“I am. I also like a little romance before sex.”

“You want to have sex tonight?” Pansy was panting.

“Not really,” she said truthfully. “I just want to kiss you for now.”

“But - later? You want to have sex later?”

“Yes, later.” Hermione kissed her slowly. Pansy moaned and kissed her back, gently this time. There was passion, but it wasn’t frenzied, and Hermione could enjoy it more. “Your lips are so soft.”

“Yeah?” Pansy breathed.

Hermione kissed her again and again. “They are heaven. You taste so good.”

“Fuck, Hermione.”

“It’s Hermione now?”

Pansy laughed. She moved her hand over Hermione’s breast, cupping it. “Hermione,” she whispered.

Hermione ran her hands along Pansy’s waist, over her thighs. She loved her combination of strength and softness. 

“When did you first start fancying women?” Pansy asked.

Hermione kissed her again. “After Hogwarts and the war. It just happened.”

“Who was your first?”

“No one you know.” 

Pansy nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’ve always been a lesbian. I know everyone at school thought I was shagging Draco, but I wasn’t. We were too bent for that.”

“I didn’t think you were shagging Draco, but I also never thought you’d be into girls.”

“Yeah, well, I am.”

Hermione kissed down her neck, tasting her skin and feeling her heartbeat. “Pansy,” she whispered, and their lips met again, more passionate this time.

*

The next day, Hermione woke up with a smile on her face and her anticipation brewing. She couldn’t believe they had snogged last night, but now she was more determined to keep Pansy safe.

They had fallen asleep in Hermione’s bed. Hermione slid to her feet, doing her best not to disturb Pansy, who looked so cute when she slept. Hermione stared at her for a moment. Her lips looked so soft. 

Hermione went to the hallway toilet to get ready. She was going to return to that house; she knew now that she had given up too soon. It didn’t matter if it turned out to be the house of someone totally not involved in the attack. Hermione was going to do everything in her power to keep Pansy safe.

She took Circe on her walk before leaving. The sun was hot and glowing, and she shielded her eyes. Circe trodded on her leash, tail wagging. The trees swayed in the soft breeze, ruffling Hermione’s hair and cooling her neck. She breathed deeply and smelled all the floral fragrance. 

She felt like something was shifting inside her. Everything was the same on the outside, but there was change going on within her. 

After the walk, Hermione Disapparated from the garden so the pop wouldn’t disturb Pansy. Some part of her knew she was hiding from Pansy, but she didn’t want to think too much about it.

She arrived at the house. She should go through the mail or something. She’d really be onto something if the place belonged to Chade Clowes. 

She wasn’t an idiot. Pansy’s reaction damn near confirmed that he’d been the one to attack her, or at least it proved he was involved in some way. If Clowes had nothing to do with the attack, Pansy would have laughed and said so. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone home. The curtains were closed and no sound came from behind the walls. Hermione crept into the garden. She inspected the front of the house. Nothing seemed to be added, no more personal belongings left behind by the owner. 

She paused and tilted her head to gaze up at the second level. She thought she saw a curtain tremble, as if someone had just peeked out. 

Her stomach twisted and her head felt full of water. She was about to faint. She stumbled back to the street. For a moment, she clutched her head, trying to talk herself through the disorientation, but she began to tremble. She was in agony. 

She Disapparated, intending to arrive at St Mungo’s, but she didn’t have the strength. She landed somewhere in London, bloody and unconscious.

It was on a street with rundown houses, a few pets milling about, but no one else was around.

*

Hermione hadn’t returned.

Pansy paced her cozy lounge, frustrated, worried. She had woken up to an empty house. She thought Hermione had gone to meet Harry or Ron again; maybe she’d even popped over to a shop or two, but it had been hours and hours, and she still hadn’t returned.

Circe sensed something was wrong. She perched near the door, whining softly, ears lowered. Pansy wanted to wrap herself around the dog. She wanted to press her face to her soft fur.

She felt faint and her stitches ached. She hadn’t eaten much and her mouth was parched. She needed to drink some water before her headache became unbearable. 

What would she do if Hermione never returned? She’d have to reach out to Potter, to beg for his help, his trust. She’d want to find Hermione, to save her, but Clowes couldn’t discover her whereabouts. Potter liked Clowes so much. Pansy wasn’t so sure if Potter would keep her location secret. 

It was too early to panic. Pansy sat down heavily on the sofa. Circe came up to her and she tugged at her ears, comforting herself more than the dog. She would wait. She would remain calm. Hermione was going to come back.

*

The light was too bright, even through her closed lids. There were sounds outside the door - carts squeaking down a hallway, swishing robes and ringing laughter. Hermione didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t move.

When she opened her eyes, she knew she’d been unconscious for a while. The room was nothing but a flash of white. She blinked, feeling the grit at the corner of her eyes.

“Hermione?” someone whispered close to her ear. She tried to turn her head but it hurt too much.

“Where am I?” she croaked.

“St Mungo’s.”

“Good.” She was so relieved she could cry. 

“A Muggle found you near Twickenham. They tried to take you to hospital, but luckily someone working for NHS recognized you as a witch.”

“Wow,” she said, her throat like chalk. “Oh, no, _Pansy_.”

“Pansy?” 

“How long has it been? How long have I been here?”

“What are you on about?” It was Harry and he didn’t sound happy.

“Please don’t be cross,” she whispered. “She’s been staying with me.”

“Parkinson? _Pansy Parkinson_?”

“Since she was attacked.”

“She was attacked!”

“Please, Harry. Please understand.”

“She was attacked and you didn’t tell anyone? Are you mad?”

“ _Please._ ” Tears stung her eyes. She was too exhausted, too much in pain, to handle his anger.

“I will go to her.”

“No! She doesn’t want to be found!”

“She’s injured, all alone at your house. We can’t just leave her there.”

Tears now spilled down her cheeks. She felt so stupid. “None of this would’ve happened if I just listened to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying to find her attacker. She knows his identity, but she won’t tell me. I thought I could handle it.”

“You know who did this to you?” His voice was low rage.

“I think so. I was watching his house and I stepped into its garden and suddenly felt so terrible. I felt like I was dying. I tried to Disapparate but I didn’t make it.”

“Fucking hell.” 

The door opened. “Is she awake?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and stepped aside.

Hermione blinked and tried to focus her gaze. She saw someone tall and lanky, with a shock of red hair. “Hello, Ron.”

“Hi.” He held something in his arms. “I brought you flowers.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She was embarrassed. It had been a while since she’d seen him. 

Ron took up the chair beside her bed. He gently laid the flowers on her lap and held her hand. “Oh, Moiny. What happened to you?”

She let him hold her hand. It felt nice. “I was probably cursed.”

“That’s what the healer said.” Harry stood at the other side of her bed. “I didn’t want to believe it.” 

“Who would want to curse you?” Ron said.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

Ron squeezed her hand. “Yeah, okay.” 

“I need to do a work thing,” Harry said.

“A work thing?” Ron said. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” Harry kissed her forehead. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Harry,” she said desperately. She didn’t want to talk about Pansy in front of Ron, but she also knew where Harry was going.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “I know what I’m doing.”

Hermione dropped her head to her pillow. She was too weak to protest. Ron helped her drink some water.

“Do you know where he went?” Ron said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ron squeezed her hand again. “Okay.”

*

Pansy hid in Hermione’s bed. The sheets still smelled like her and it was comforting. Circe and the cats were sleeping next to her. She had managed to bathe and feed herself, but she was too despondent to do much more.

Twice a day, she waved her wand and the pets’ dishes filled with food. She waved her wand again whenever Circe made a mess in the house. Hermione would probably be mortified. 

Something had happened to her. Clowes was probably torturing her right this moment, and Pansy was too stupid and weak to do anything about it. Clowes was too powerful at the Ministry, and he was too good at curses and hexes. Pansy had to come up with a plan; she had to figure out a way to beat him at his own game without getting people killed. 

Maybe Hermione had run away. Maybe their kiss had sent her into a panic, and she was now back in the arms of Ron. Some people only liked the _thought_ of shagging the same sex. Pansy had been too desperate, too much of a lesbian, and had scared her away.

Her panic felt dark and liquidy, like a river overflowing its bank or a tide forcing her beneath the surface. She wanted to gasp and sputter, but she lay very still and kept her eyes on the ceiling. She saw patterns and faces. She learned their secrets. 

The fireplace roared to life. She heard it through the wall. She was too lost to be relieved. 

“Hello?” called a man. “Parkinson?”

 _I’m in here_ , she said in her head, or maybe she spoke, the words crusted over. 

A shadow filled the doorway. The man stepped into the room and swished on a light. “Fuck, Parkinson. What did you do to yourself?”

She wanted to hit and kick him. She wanted to claw at his face. 

Circe jumped up and barked. She licked Potter’s face and tried to crawl into his arms. Traitor. 

“Why are you hiding here? You’ve got the whole DMLE worried sick about you.”

“Good,” she said.

He frowned. “You’re one of the best we’ve got. It’s not like you to make stupid decisions.”

She imagined attacking him. She imagined grinding her fists into his face, breaking his glasses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Were you doing something illegal? Were you afraid you’d get caught?”

“Damn you.” She bared her teeth.

“Why keep it a secret then? Why not go straight to St Mungo’s after you were injured?” Potter glared. “Hermione nearly died because of you.”

Pansy bolted up. She grabbed her chest and muffled a cry. “Hermione’s hurt? Where is she?”

Potter was looking at her in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not bloody all right!” Her heart was thumping. She felt sick but energized. “I was so scared that something happened to her.”

“Well, something did happen to her, and it’s all because she was trying to help you.”

Pansy closed her eyes. “She tried to track down Clowes.”

“Clowes? Did you say Clowes?”

She looked away. “I want to see her. I need to know she’s okay.”

“Yes, okay. I will take you to St Mungo’s. It looks like you need to see a healer, too.”

Pansy hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . there are things you don’t know that could harm me.”

He frowned. “Why are you keeping all this a secret? You’re an Auror! You should know to trust the DMLE.”

It was pointless. She’d known it was pointless from the very beginning. Clowes was just too popular, and the Aurors were just that _stupid_. The game was up. She was done hiding.

“Fine,” she said, grinding her teeth. “Take me to hospital.”

With an arm around her waist, Potter helped her wobble to the Floo. “I could try to fit in there with you,” he said.

“No, I can manage.” She took some powder and threw it to her feet weakly. “St Mungo’s,” she croaked.

She whirled through darkness, her eyes closed. She hated seeing all the rooms flashing by. She heard muted chatter and felt the tickle of the flames. 

When she arrived at St Mungo’s, she nearly collapsed. The lobby was busy and overwhelming, especially after being confined to an empty house for days. She clutched the wall, taking deep breaths. She was finally beginning to relax - she felt the deep throb of her stitches and how much the stress had weakened her limbs.

Potter appeared a moment later. “Come on,” he said, taking her arm gently. “Let’s get you seen to.”

“No.” She tried to yank away. “I want to see Hermione first.”

He sighed. “All right.”

They hobbled down a corridor, then turned right and hobbled down another one. Healers and mediwitches rushed past; a few visitors milled about, talking quietly or trying to shush their children. Pansy’s eyes fluttered. She was so tired of fighting. 

They came to an open door. Inside were a gaggle of Weasleys. Pansy felt the blood drain from her face.

“Harry’s back!” said an old woman. She rushed to greet him and stopped when she saw Pansy.

“This is Pansy Parkinson,” Potter announced before anyone could ask questions. 

Ronald Weasley stood up from a chair and tried to block Hermione. “What is Parkinson doing here?”

“Ron,” said a weak voice from the bed. “I want to see her.”

Pansy’s heart was racing. She stumbled to the bed. She saw Hermione and her vision blurred from relief. Hermione looked tired but relatively healthy. She was going to live. 

“I was so worried something happened to you.” She held Hermione’s hand close to her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said. “You tried to warn me and I was just stupid.”

“No, you were only trying to help.” Pansy wanted to kiss her palm. She wanted to kiss her lips. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

“What she involved in?” Ron said.

“Yes,” said the old woman, her voice ringing. “I think we would all like to know _why_ someone wanted to hurt our Hermione.”

“Mum,” said another redheaded brother. He was older and didn’t have scars, so Pansy assumed it was Charlie. 

“Did he attack you?” Pansy said, voice lowered.

“I’m not sure.” Hermione tried to smile but she flinched from the pain. “I was stupid enough to spy on his house. He must have known that I was a threat.”

“I don’t understand,” Pansy said, imagining Hermione dueling Clowes. 

“I’m not sure what happened exactly. I was in his garden and I suddenly became sick. Very, very sick.”

“We must alert the Aurors,” the old woman said, turning to Potter.

Potter was looking at Pansy and Hermione, frowning. “We can’t make the best decision if we don’t know all the detail. Who are you talking about?”

Pansy opened her mouth. She wanted to tell them. She was sick of carrying this burden alone. “Hermione,” she said softly.

Hermione licked her lips. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I woke up. Why did the name ‘Chade Clowes’ sound so familiar?”

“I’ve talked about him before,” Potter said.

“I’ve met him, I think,” Ron said. “He was a nice bloke.”

“I thought and thought,” Hermione whispered. “Then I remembered. Delilah, the watchmaker. I was scanning the page as she looked in her records for customers that went by Constance. I saw that name. Clowes. Constance Clowes.”

“What are you talking about?” Pansy said. “A watchmaker?”

“I told you I found his watch. I did some research to find the address of the watchmaker. Didn’t you wonder where I was going?”

“I thought you had mates and errands,” Pansy said. “I didn’t want to pry.”

Hermione gave her a leveled look. “Please tell us. What did he do? Why were you tracking him down?”

Pansy’s vision blurred again. She reached out to steady herself but found only air. An arm came around her shoulders.

“Let’s get you a chair,” Potter said.

Pansy tried to nod, but she was so tired. She wanted to explain. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Her head lolled against Potter’s shoulder.

“She needs a healer,” said the old woman. 

Potter called for someone in the corridor. Pansy tried to open her eyes and let Hermione know she was fine, but unconsciousness overwhelmed her.

*

It was dark when Hermione woke up from the pain. She gasped, then fell into a coughing fit. Where was Pansy?

Harry came to her side. His hair was wild, his face tired. He’d been sleeping in a chair next to the bed. “Need a drink of water?”

She nodded thankfully. He grabbed the glass from the table and muttered, “ _Aguamenti_.” He helped her sit up and take slow sips. 

When her thirst was quenched, she laid back against the pillows with a sigh. It took her a few attempts before she could speak. “The pain - I need another potion.”

Harry nodded and sent a call for a mediwitch with his wand. The bright red alert pulsed like Muggle police lights and shot from the room. A few moments later, a mediwitch arrived to review her chart.

“Yes, you’re due for another dose. I will be right back.”

Harry paced the length of her bed. Hermione gulped air, trying to ignore the pain.

“Where did everyone go?”

“Back to the Burrow,” Harry said. “Ron wanted to stay but he didn’t know if it would make you uncomfortable.”

Hermione smiled. She was touched that Ron was thinking about boundaries. It was something they had talked about right after their breakup. “Where is Pansy?”

Harry shook his head. “She’s fine. The healer said she was suffering from exhaustion and frayed nerves.”

“Her stitches?”

“The healer was surprised they weren’t done by a professional. You should be proud.”

“I am.” Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. “Is she here or back at my house?”

“She’s in the level up. They are going to release her tomorrow.”

“Good.” She opened her eyes and found Harry frowning deeply. “What’s the matter?”

“The truth is I’m angry. I’ve tried to be sympathetic. Really, I have. But she almost got you _killed_.”

“She didn’t do anything. It was my choice.”

“She’s the professional! She should know to go to Robards about anything. If there’s a crook in the Ministry, then fine. He or she won’t be the first. But she didn’t do that! She chased after him by herself. She almost got herself blown up. She almost got you murdered.”

“You have every right to be scared, Harry,” she said. “Just don’t take it out on her.”

He opened his mouth to respond but the healer returned with the bubbling potion. She cast a no-spill charm and let Hermione gulp it quickly without sitting up. The potion was thick and muddy and tasted like mushrooms.

The healer went away and Harry calmed down. He grasped her hand. “Hermione,” he said. “You have to understand.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She closed her eyes and let the potion drag her under.

*

The next day Pansy and Hermione were released from St Mungo’s. They returned to Hermione’s house and Pansy was glad to see Circe. She was feeling loads better, but Hermione was still weak. Ron tried to help Hermione to bed, but Pansy put her body between them, trembling from jealousy.

“I’ve got it, Weasley,” she said, and let Hermione lean heavily on her. She wanted to kiss her forehead just to see what he would do.

“Okay,” he said easily. 

Pansy helped Hermione move down the hallway to her bedroom, which was dark and cool. The bed was still unmade. The sheets smelled like dog. “I can cast a cleaning spell.”

“Don’t bother,” Hermione whispered.

Pansy eased her onto the bed. She took off her shoes and cloak, and fluffed up her pillows. Hermione relaxed into the mattress and Pansy pulled the duvet over her. She kissed her on the lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Hermione’s eyes were already closed.

“Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”

“Be nice to Ron. He’s only trying to help.”

“Fine,” she said, annoyed.

Hermione reached up as if to touch her face, but her hand fell back on the duvet. “I’m going to sleep now.”

Pansy kissed her again. “I will be here when you wake up.” When Hermione’s breathing deepened, she went back to the lounge. 

“Is she asleep?” Potter said.

“Yes.” Pansy avoided his eyes as she sat down on the sofa. Potter loomed over her. She knew this sort of intimidation well and didn’t let it affect her. She met his glare. 

“Tell me now what’s going on. I’m your superior, Parkinson. It’s your professional duty to not lie to me.” His eyes were cold jade, a rock on some distant planet. 

“Chade Clowes is a criminal. He’s a thief.”

Potter’s jaw tensed. “I consider Chade a close friend. What you are alleging is very serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it?”

Potter’s mouth fell open. Behind him, Weasley coughed. “How dare you,” Potter said.

Smirking, she said, “You’ve always had a thing for blonds.”

“You have no right to bring that up!”

“He doesn’t speak to me anymore.” She gritted her teeth. “He can’t even look me in the face because of _you_.”

“I had nothing to with it!”

Ron took up a chair near the fireplace. He looked quite bored. “Can we not argue about Malfoy right now?”

Pansy and Potter glared at him, then Potter took a deep breath and tried to relax. “What do you suspect Chade of doing?”

“He’s been stealing from the Department of Mysteries for years.” Even saying it out loud, Pansy felt like an idiot. How could an Unspeakable get away with stealing things from the most protected part of the Ministry?

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “About a year ago now, I had a bit of a crush on Lucy Brownton. Maybe you know her. She’s an Unspeakable like Clowes. Very cute, wonderful arse.”

They didn’t smile and she continued. “I liked to go down to level nine to chat her up. One day I was trying to find the toilet when I saw Clowes coming out of a room. He was carrying this glowing ball and he looked sneaky about it. I thought I was jumping to conclusions until I heard murmurs about the famous Oracle Bulb of Morgan Le Fay being misplaced. To this day, they think it’s in some secretary’s drawer but I know he took it.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

She shrugged. “Because I’ve seen him take loads of things. He takes them back to his house, that beautiful house his mummy gave him, and sometimes he returns to work with their fakes.”

“Are you saying you tailed him a year?” 

Pansy shrugged. “Yeah.”

Potter looked unimpressed. “How could you possibly know the items he returns are fakes?”

“Because,” Pansy said, “I have tested them. The Seeing Eye of Seer Seline doesn’t see shit anymore.”

“I have a Pensieve. Are you willing to give up your memories?”

She grimaced. It was a tactic frequently used by Aurors, but the memories were stolen away, leaving a grey smudge of thought. Pansy didn’t know if she trusted Potter with the only evidence she had against Clowes. If only she’d seen him that day in the field.

“Yes,” she said.

“Great,” Potter said with his mouth in a firm line. He didn’t look happy about taking her memories. “I’ll Floo to my place and get the Pensieve.” He looked at Weasley.

“I’ll be fine,” Weasley said.

Potter gave a short nod, then went to the fireplace. He was gone the next moment. Weasley looked at Pansy. “Care for a cup of tea?”

She blinked in surprise. “Yeah . . . that sounds nice.”

They went into the kitchen. Pansy glanced behind her, expecting to see Circe, but she realized the dog was with Hermione. Good. 

Weasley searched the cabinets for tea bags and the kettle. Pansy was thrilled he didn’t know his way around the house like she did. 

As the tea bags made whirls of brown in their cups, they perched at the table, looking everywhere except for each other. 

“Milk and sugar?” Weasley said.

“Yes, thank you.”

He summoned both and let Pansy fix her tea first. He was tall and lanky and had so many freckles they looked like a remnant of a disease. They really had no similarities, he and Pansy, and she didn’t know how Hermione was capable of fancying both of them. 

He felt her gaze and smiled a little. “You are very protective of her.”

“Hermione? So are you.”

“Yes, I am.”

She whirled her tea, not looking at him. “What’s happening right now? Are you going to interrogate me or something?”

“No.” Weasley drank his tea and stared pleasantly out the window. Pansy watched him, grinding her teeth.

“Don’t you want to know if Hermione and I are shagging?”

He didn’t react. “Not particularly.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to tell you.” There was a moment of silence. Pansy was bubbling with questions, but she didn’t know what she could ask. “Are you still in love with her?”

“I love her like a sister.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows. Before she could pry some more, the Floo flared to life in the other room. Potter was back. 

“We’re in here,” Weasley called, and Potter followed his voice. “Want a cup of tea?”

“Later,” Potter said gruffly. He held an ancient Pensieve. A shiver went through Pansy. Only the oldest wizarding families had Pensieves like that, and she wondered if it belonged to the Blacks or the Potters. 

Potter set the Pensieve on the table with a heavy thud. He took out his wand and turned to Pansy. “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and pressed her wand to her temple. Her memories slipped from her head like liquid worms. She dropped the memories into the Pensieve, watching their colors begin to whirl. She glimpsed the red of her Auror robes. 

Potter stirred her memories with his wand. “I’ll be as quick as possible,” he said, and lowered his head into the Pensieve. 

Pansy tightened her fingers against her cup. Her heartbeat had sped up, and she didn’t want to look at Weasley.

They sat there silently, waiting for Potter return. It was eerie watching someone with their head stuck in a Pensieve; it was a strange position, a strange sight, and made no sound.

After a good twenty minutes, Potter finally lifted his head from the Pensieve, his hair completely dry despite the whirling water. Pansy searched his expression, wanting to find validation. His expression was very grave. 

“Chade Clowes is a criminal,” he said.

 _Thank Merlin_. Pansy let out a heavy breath. 

“Fuck,” Weasley said.

“He’s covered his tracks well and made friends with the right people,” Potter said. “We will need to catch him red-handed to make Robards believe.”

“What about Parkinson’s memories?” Weasley said.

Potter shook his head. “He’s notoriously skeptical of Pensieve techniques and highly loyal. Clowes has played his cards well.”

“He’s like Robards’ best mate,” Pansy growled. 

“Well, not exactly, but quite close,” Potter said. 

She glared. She hated when men began any sentence with “Well,” especially when responding to her. 

Weasley nodded seriously, his gaze excited. “Let’s create a plan then.”

Potter frowned. “I’m not sure if you should get involved. You’re not an Auror, mate.”

“I’m still capable of schemes.” Weasley rubbed his hands together.

Potter laughed. “George has been a terrible example.”

“You’ve no idea,” Weasley said.

“I want to wait for Hermione to wake up,” Pansy said. “She should be involved in the planning as well.”

“Of course,” Potter said, but he didn’t look convinced.

*

That night, they ordered Muggle pizza and crowded around the kitchen table to strategize. Hermione nimbled a slice of pepperoni and mushroom and tried to focus on what they were saying.

“You want to set Clowes up?” she said.

“Yes,” Pansy said.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“Yes,” Harry said.

She looked at them, a bit astonished to see them together. Ron was there, too. He looked determined and hungry. She wanted to pat his freckled hand and thank him for sticking around. 

She pulled off a pepperoni and popped it into her mouth. She savored the grease. “We know what this man is capable of. We shouldn’t put ourselves in jeopardy.”

Both Harry and Pansy looked unimpressed. They were used to charging head-first into danger. Hermione wasn’t. She asked Ron, “What do you think?”

Ron shrugged. “I want to help. I want to get the man that hurt you.”

“Yes, it’s terrible what happened to me, but I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. One of us could die and then where would we be?”

Sighing, Pansy said, “Either we do it with your help or we do it without it. I’m tired of watching him steal priceless artifacts - dangerous artifacts - from the Ministry. I’m tired of everyone loving a thief, a liar, an attempted murderer.”

Hermione gnawed on her pizza crust. She liked Pansy’s determination. It made her want to kiss her deeply. It made her want to worship her. But she just didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting hurt.

“What does the Oracle Bulb of Morgan Le Fay do again?” Ron said.

Pansy and Harry blinked at him; Hermione went still. “I’ve read about that,” she said quietly.

“It’s supposed to illuminate the future and protect you from enemies,” Pansy said.

Hermione sucked in a breath. “What does it have to do with Clowes?”

Harry grimaced. “He nicked it. We think he has it and is probably using it for his own gain.”

“It’s entrenched in mythology. The Unspeakables didn’t even know if it worked,” Pansy said.

“But it might work?” Hermione said.

“Yes,” she said. 

“Merlin,” Ron said, rubbing hard at his face. 

“Before we can come up with a proper plan, we need to figure out what exactly that bulb can do,” Harry said.

Hermione brightened. “I’m always up for a spot of research.”

“We know,” Ron said, grinning. Pansy rolled her eyes. 

They agreed to go to the library the next day, but for now Hermione and Pansy needed more rest. Harry and Ron agreed to clean up while they headed for the bedrooms. Pansy hesitated, not sure if she should sleep with Hermione.

“Life’s too short,” Hermione said, and took her hand. Pansy let out a breath and allowed herself to feel the ache of exhaustion. 

They went into Hermione’s bedroom, Circe at their heels, and closed the door.

*

The morning arrived dark and rainy. Pansy blinked awake and thought it was still nighttime. The window was open and shadows from the clouds moved across the wall. Circe whined at the door, needing to relieve herself.

Trying not to disturb Hermione, she slipped from bed and opened the door. She went to the kitchen to start the coffee but stopped. Potter and Weasley were already there, sharing a pot of dark roast. 

They stared at her and she blushed. She was wearing Hermione’s pyjamas, floral and old-fashioned, like what a nan would wear. Weasley raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, fuck off,” she growled, and poured herself a cup. Who cared what they thought?

“I recognize those pyjamas,” Weasley said easily, inspecting his coffee. 

“You own the same pair?” Pansy said.

Weasley snorted. “Something like that.”

They fell into awkward silence. Potter began to speak but Hermione walked into the kitchen. She yawned loudly and ran her fingers through her crazy bed hair. Pansy watched Weasley to see his expression, but he didn’t look up.

Potter floated a cup of coffee Hermione’s way. She grabbed it and smiled gratefully. 

“So.” Hermione joined them at the table. “We are off to the library this morning. How exciting!”

Weasley and Pansy groaned; Potter frowned. “Do you know if this library will have what we need?” Potter said. “Maybe I should write to McGonagall and set about asking to comb the Hogwarts library.”

Hermione waved her hand. “That library is _tiny_. It still impresses you because that’s the only library you’ve been in, but trust me.”

Potter shifted in his seat. “I’ve been in the Ministry library.”

“That’s not even a proper library!” Hermione licked the coffee from her lips. 

“How isn’t it a proper library?” Weasley said. “It says _library_ right on the door.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She drained her coffee and let out a heavy sigh. Pansy smiled at her dramatics. 

“I, for one, am excited about trying new things,” Pansy said. Now it was Potter’s turn to roll his eyes. There were times when she understood why Draco fancied him so much, but right now he seemed like a grumpy child. 

Pansy looked around. “You didn’t actually sleep here, did you?” 

“Yes, we did,” Potter said. 

She smirked. “Did you both take the guest room? Snuggle up together?”

“I got the bed,” Weasley said cheerfully. “Harry got the sofa.”

“Ah, that explains his wonderful mood this morning,” Pansy said. Potter just glared at her. 

“You should have asked me!” Hermione said. “I’m terrific at bed charms.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Potter tapped his fingers against the table, ansty as hell. Pansy understood now. He just needed a good shag. She remembered her bloody fantastic snog with Hermione and felt a bit sad. They really needed to do that again, and quick.

Hermione took her cup to the sink, then turned around, hands on hips. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

“I need the loo first,” Pansy said, smoothing down her hair. “And probably a shower.”

Sighing, Hermione said, “All right, but be quick about it!”

Pansy rose from the table, taking her time to the door, letting Weasley and Potter see the pyjamas again. They _belonged_ to Hermione, just like how she belonged to her when sleeping beside her. Maybe one day she would even know her better than they did. Hopefully. She couldn’t wait.

*

Pansy was never a good student. She wasn’t into studying or swotty peers. She didn’t like books or scrolls or dusty old women. She liked noise and laughter and _excitement_. She avoided libraries at all costs.

But the library near Hermione’s wasn’t so bad. It was big and busy, with loads of interesting characters wandering through its doors and down its sprawling aisles. She liked how the books zoomed through the air, like they were on the job, like they were hustling for a cheque. 

Hermione seemed to know all the librarians, crusty hags who wore mismatched robes and stood on teetering books like Professor Flitwick. For some reason, Potter and Weasley couldn’t stop grinning, and she felt like she was missing something. Maybe it was all nostalgia. 

Hermione led them down aisle after aisle, her wand trailing along the book spines. She looked beautiful like this, with her wild hair and determined frown. Her eyes were bright and brown. She looked sexy. Pansy wanted to press her against the shelves and taste her mouth. She wanted to rip open her robes and suck a nipple into her mouth. She wanted to reach between Hermione’s legs and find her wet, so very wet. 

“Here we are,” Hermione said. “These are all their books on Morgan Le Fay.”

Gaping, they craned their necks to take in the towering bookstack. It would take them _ages_ to go through all of these books.

“Um, Hermione,” Weasley said. “Please tell me you’ve got a plan. I don’t want to be stuck here reading until retirement.” 

“I’ve got a plan,” Hermione answered simply. She waved her wand and four books soared to a nearby table. “The librarians told me to start with those ones first. Search them _thoroughly_ for any mention of the bulb.”

“Yes, Mum,” Weasley said, but he grinned again. 

They got to work. The chairs were hard and stiff, and Pansy had a difficult time concentrating. What if this bulb was dangerous? What could Clowes really be planning to do with it? He seemed more interested in cool artifacts than world domination, but she really didn’t know the bloke. He might be power hungry in a way that shocked her. How often did simple thieves turn to murder to cover up their crimes? 

“Wait a minute,” Weasley said suddenly. “I found a paragraph talking about the bulb!”

They crowded around his shoulder, and Hermione read out loud:

 _It is said that Morgan often used her bulb and sword to protect King Arthur on the battlefield and to heal the fallen men around her. Some accounts suggest she used the bulb to gaze into the future, but others believe it was little more than an emblem she carried to remind herself of a lost love. A few scholars, including the renowned Robert de Tourt, believe that the one to possess both bulb and sword would be as power as Morgan herself._

“Hate to be the person to ask,” Weasley said conversationally, “but does the Department of Mysteries have the sword, too?”

“I don’t think so,” Potter said, frowning.

“I’ve never heard about it,” Pansy said.

Hermione squinted, thinking hard. “I think I read somewhere that the sword was lost to history. Loads of people doubt the sword even existed.”

“I’m sure people didn’t believe that bulb existed either, but here we are,” Weasley said.

“Let’s keep looking,” Hermione said. “We need to find a few more sources that corroborate this paragraph.”

“Okay,” Potter said, but he didn’t sound happy about it. Weasley looked like he brushing away some tears. 

Pansy sighed quietly and turned her attention back to the dusty book in front of her.

*

Back at Hermione’s house, they crowded the kitchen table to go over what they’d learned.

“No one can agree if the sword is real,” Weasley said, muffling a loud yawn.

“What did you expect?” Hermione said almost shrilly. “Their sources are hundreds and hundreds of years old.”

“We should plan as if Clowes has both the bulb and the sword,” Potter said. “We need to catch him red-handed.”

“How do you want to go about that, Potter?” Pansy rested her head on the back of the chair. Her eyes were too tired to keep open.

“I don’t know. Perhaps we can plant something and wait to see if he’s greedy enough to take it.”

“So, we will set him up and wait for hours and hours until he takes the bait?” Hermione frowned.

“Yeah, it’s called a stakeout,” Potter said. “Aurors do it all the time.”

“Do you have any other plans?” Weasley said. “George won’t be too happy if I spend all my time waiting around the Ministry.”

Potter thought for a moment. “I could go to work and talk about finding the sword of Morgan Le Fay. I could say it in front of Albert. He’s good mates with Clowes and would sure bring it up.”

“Good,” Pansy said, even though she knew it was unnecessary. 

With how often Clowes was nicking things, she was sure they would catch him if they just waited long enough. Unless Clowes somehow knew she had teamed up with Potter. He could be watching hospital records, or even watching Hermione’s house. 

If it’d been her, Pansy would have stayed low after cursing Hermione, but Clowes was greedy and ego-driven. He’d want the rush of stealing when he should be hiding. 

“We should search his office,” Hermione said easily.

Potter’s eyebrows went up. “How do you expect to do that?”

She shrugged. “We broke into Umbridge’s office. How different can this be?”

“Hopefully it will be easier!” Weasley said.

Pansy blinked. It was strange being privy to this conversation, with the Golden Trio talking so casually about their heroics during the war. Journalists and scholars would _faint_.

“I suppose it’d be a good idea to know what he has at his disposal,” Potter said.

“What if you find something from the Department of Mysteries in his office? Couldn’t you nab him that way?” Weasley said.

Pansy shook her head. “Can’t be proven. His solicitor will say we planted it.”

“Yeah,” Potter said. “If we’re doing this, then I want hard evidence.” He took a deep breath. “If we do our search at night, then I could nick his office key from the caretakers.”

“We should go tonight,” Hermione said firmly. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Potter said.

“I agree with Hermione.” Pansy felt antsy. “I want to go tonight.”

“But Hermione was just _cursed_ ,” Potter said.

Hermione raised her chin. “I’m fine.”

“I thought we were all knackered after the library?” Weasley said. “I know I am.”

“All I need is a cup of coffee,” Hermione said.

Sighing, Potter looked at his watch. “We will go in a few hours when the caretakers are between shifts. I know Mrs Foxington will be alone during that time.”

“Is she the head caretaker or something?” Weasley said.

“Yes,” Potter said. “She will have all the keys.”

Pansy closed her eyes. She’d be ready after a quick kip.

*

It was after dinner when they made it to the Ministry. The atrium was deserted, the restored fountain sounding like rain on a window.

Harry took out his Invisibility Cloak, which he had retrieved from his home when the others were resting. Hermione’s heart swelled with nostalgia. The war had been awful, but they had so many good memories underneath that cloak. She had to remember those. 

“We should split up,” Harry said softly. “Mrs Foxington will be suspicious if all four of us barge into her office.” 

Pansy moved toward Hermione. “We’ll stick together. You and Weasley can team up.”

Harry frowned. “No, I don’t like that idea. Hermione comes with me.”

“No way!” Pansy said, her voice almost a shriek. “Do you not trust me, Potter?”

Fearing a row, Hermione stepped between them. “I’ll go with Harry. It’s not personal, Pans. Ron is a good partner.”

“Yeah, I am.” Ron was trying not to sound offended, Hermione could tell. 

Pansy looked betrayed. “Fine,” she said, teeth gritted. “What do you want us to do?”

“Go down to the Department of Mysteries. I doubt the guards will let you in, but it would be good to just have a look around. Maybe something in the corridor will give you an idea of how Clowes is managing to nick things.”

“And Hermione will go with you to talk to Foxington?” When Harry nodded, Pansy grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and kissed her. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Hermione blushed but nodded. She clutched Pansy. “You too.”

“I’m not an amateur, Parkinson,” Harry said, and draped the cloak over Hermione’s shoulders. “She will be safe. Trust me.” 

Pansy kissed her again, more desperately this time, then set off with Ron. Hermione watched her disappear into a lift. 

“Come on,” Harry said, and gently pulled the hood over her head. “Try not to make any noise.”

“I know,” she whispered.

They entered a lift. It hadn’t been cleaned yet and there were struggling memos caught in the gate. They dropped to the level below and the lift opened to reveal a corridor filled with sweeping brooms and rolling buckets. 

They passed a break room that smelled of burned coffee. A cupboard door was opened and cleaning supplies spilled out like a wave. 

At the end of the corridor stood a big room with many cubicles. All were empty except for one, but the occupant was currently asleep. She was an older woman with purple hair and glasses with small gems. 

Harry, eyebrows raised, crept closer. There were a ring of keys next to the woman’s hand, as if she’d set them down momentarily without intending to fall asleep. 

Slowly, he grabbed the keys, which made a faint tinkle. He paused to see if she was awake, but she only shifted. Her mouth parted and she let out a soft snore. 

He inched back, eyes still trained on the woman. They made it to the door, then hastened from the room and down the corridor. They spoke once they were back in the lift. 

“You don’t think she was cursed?” Hermione whispered. She’d read about curses that made people look asleep. 

“No,” Harry answered just as quietly. “I’ve seen those curses. She looked like she was really asleep.” He checked his watch. “It’s a down time for her. All the bosses have left and it’s too early for the night team to start their cleaning. Good time for a kip.”

“I hope you know where his office is.” She remembered what a maze the Ministry could be, especially when you didn’t know where you were going.

“I know where it is,” he said darkly.

They shot down lower, so low that the temperature dropped. The lift doors clanged open and they entered a dark corridor with only one wall torch aflame. They walked farther and more torches came to life. 

“It’s not as eerie during the daytime,” Harry said, and he motioned to the closed doors. “These offices are filled with good people. Do you remember Merrilla? She works on this level.”

Hermione didn’t know how smart it was to be talking right now, so she didn’t say anything. Harry got the message and his mouth tightened. 

They stopped in front of a closed door, and Hermione almost expected to see Moody’s magical eye. She shivered and tried not to think of Umbridge. 

Harry tried the first key in the lock, which didn’t fit. Hermione thought she remembered a safety charm from the time she was a Ministry employee. You only got three attempts with your key before a charm activated that turned your door to pure steel. 

“Be careful,” she whispered. “We don’t want to be locked out.”

He looked confused, but then he nodded. He remembered, too. He eyed the keys, trying to pick out the right one. 

There was a noise at the end of the corridor. They looked in its direction, but only saw darkness.

“Hurry,” she whispered, so low it was like a prayer to herself. 

Harry picked another a key. It was silver and twisted at the end. He slid it into the lock and took a deep breath. He turned it but nothing happened. “Shit,” he muttered.

 _Last chance_ , Hermione thought. Throat tightening, she watched him examine all the keys, trying to pick the right now. 

“Which one looks like the master?” He held up all the keys.

She examined them with a desperate eye. This was their last chance. She must make the right choice. 

What did a master key look like? Big and metal. Something versatile. Her gaze landed on a key that was so old it was rusted. She examined the keyhole, which was old and almost medieval. 

Either it was the master or it belonged to a door so ancient that it’d been forgotten. Knowing the Ministry and its backward ways, its refusal to face modernity, she was willing to bet on the old key. 

She pointed to the rusted key. Harry raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t argue. He put it in the lock and slowly turned. The door unlocked. 

They pushed into the room, which was dark and messy. Harry waved his wand and a few lamps turned on. There was a large desk, a comfy chair, and a few cabinets that loomed along the wall. 

“Help me look for the sword,” Harry whispered, but Hermione grabbed his arm. 

On the desk was the Oracle Bulb of Morgan Le Fay. It glowed faintly in the gloom, a whirling storm captured in the bulb. Hermione leaned forward and gasped. A violet eye blinked at her.

*

Pansy and Weasley found themselves in an empty corridor on level nine. The entrance to the Department of Mysteries stood before them, but they hesitated. They had no business behind that door and the department surely knew it.

“The entrance chamber will disorient us,” Pansy muttered. “We will lose ourselves, lose each other. We might even die.”

“Lovely,” Weasley said. He thought for a moment, his forehead creasing. “How did you get inside to talk up that girl?”

“She met me out here,” Pansy said. “I always found a way to sneak off once I was inside.”

“And she just accepted that?”

“The toilets are terribly difficult to find,” she said. “I dare you to try.”

He snorted and inspected the door. “Where are the guards?”

“Oh,” she said, and looked over her shoulder. It _was_ interesting that no one was guarding the door, but maybe they operated differently after hours. “Dunno. Maybe they needed the toilet.”

“Come on, then,” Weasley said, and advanced toward the entrance. “No time like the present.”

Pansy began to follow, but something struck her between the shoulder blades. She gasped and tried to break her fall, but she couldn’t move her arms. Immobilized, she hit the floor face-first. Weasley yelled.

*

“Is that an eye?” Harry sounded disgusted.

“Do you think it could be hers?” Hermione said. “Morgan Le Fay?”

Harry shivered. “I hope not. Hasn’t she been dead for a thousand years?”

“Something like that.” Hermione bit her lip. “Nothing in our research into the Oracle Bulb mentioned an eye.”

“Maybe it’s something different.”

“If it is the bulb, at least Clowes isn’t actively using it.”

Harry grimaced. The eye was blinking at them. “We don’t know that. He could be seeing us through that eye.”

“Do you think he can hear us?” she whispered.

“Let’s assume he can,” Harry said, and motioned to the cabinets. _Search them_ , he mouthed. 

Their search was cut short by a curse slicing through the office.

“Down!” Harry yelled, and he took position behind the desk, his wand at the ready.

Hermione fell hard, and it crushed the breath from her. She panted, her heart racing. She steeled herself for another attack. 

Some time passed. It felt like eternity, but it was probably only a few minutes. Harry peeked over the desk. “I think he’s gone.” He stood slowly, his wand still raised. 

There was a loud explosion. Harry crumbled to the floor and papers went flying. Hermione screamed and covered her head. She expected to feel pain, but the only thing that hit her were shards of brick and dust. 

“Harry,” she whispered. “ _Harry._ ” She didn’t dare crawl to him. 

Harry stirred. He tried to raise his head and groaned instead. 

“Are you all right?” Hermione said. When he didn’t answer, she said, “ _Please_ , Harry.”

She took a deep breath, then another. She had to go to him. She had to find out if he was alive. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to calm her fear. She could do this. She _could_. She crawled quickly, hunched like a crab, and reached him before another attack.

His eyes were open and he was breathing. _Thank you_ , she thought. 

“Hermione,” he coughed. There was blood dripping from his head.

“Where does it hurt?”

“I think I’m concussed.”

“Then don’t move.”

“Is the bulb gone?”

She examined the desk, but there too much debris. “I can’t see it, but it could have rolled off.”

“I thought I heard footsteps. I thought he’d come for it.”

“We need to warn Pansy and Ron.”

“Yes,” he said, teeth gritted. “I think he’s gone but I can’t be sure.”

She had to _think_. This was when she used her wits to come up with something extraordinary. She summoned all her magical power and cast a shielding charm, which was so strong and impenetrable she could barely see through it.

She stood wobbly and scanned the room quickly. Most of the damage was to the door, its edges burned with fire. Clowes had attacked from the corridor, but now it was empty, or at least what she could see of it. He could be hiding just at the edge of the door. 

“I’m checking the corridor.” She couldn’t get the hood of the cloak to stay on, but she had her shield.

“Be careful!” Harry said.

At the door, she couldn’t see anything but dark stone and flickering shadows. The explosion had taken out the nearest torches. She listened hard. He could still be here, waiting in the shadows, waiting for her to think she was safe. 

“Is he gone?” Harry sounded panicked, and she didn’t like it.

“I don’t know.” She inched into the corridor, her charm still blazing strong. “Are you here, Mr Clowes? I just want to talk.” She wanted to force him to make noise, to give up his position.

There was movement on her right, and she turned just in time for a hot red curse to hit her shield. She fell back, nearly losing her wand, but her shield blinked from existence. She yelled a hex, nearly shrieking. 

Brick rained down from the ceiling. There was a yelp, like Clowes had been hit. She charged after him, not really thinking about her own safety. Frantic footsteps echoed at the end of the corridor, then disappeared. 

She stumbled on something. She cast a _Lumos_ and gasped softly. It was the Oracle Bulb.

“I will only use your power for good,” Hermione said. “Do you promise to help me?”

The violet eye blinked once, and she hoped it meant _yes_.

“Hermione!” Ron raced down the corridor, panting. “It’s Parkinson! He’s taken her!”

“What?” Hermione said. “But - he was just right here! How can that be?”

“ _Something_ took her! We were at the entrance of the Department of Mysteries when she was hit. She fell and I tried to save her, but the she _disappeared._ ”

“What do you mean? She can’t just disappear!”

“What’s going on?” Harry said, bracing himself against the wall.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet!” Hermione was panicking. “It’s Pansy! He’s taken her! Made her disappear.”

Harry looked grim. “He’s probably holding her hostage in the Department of Mysteries.” He nodded at the bulb. “If I know criminals, he’ll want to make a trade.”

“Then let’s go!” Hermione said, trying not to think of all the terrible things Clowes could do to Pansy.

“I’m not sure if we will make it past the entrance chamber,” Ron said. 

Hermione held up the bulb. “I will. Morgan will ensure it.”

*

Somehow Pansy had gotten away. She had landed in a dark room, but before Clowes could imprison her, she had shot to her feet and ran blindly.

Pansy’s wounds felt tight, so tight, and it was hard to breath. She veered to the left, trying to lose him, and pain shot through her chest and back. If she wasn’t careful, she’d tear the flesh around her stitches. The skin on her back burned from his stunner. 

“You can’t hide from me, Parkinson!” His voice was high and violent like a howl. She wanted to ignore him, to not feel afraid, but she was weak and out of practice. She was sure she’d die if he tried to duel her.

She’d never been this deep inside the Department of Mysteries. There were random doors and sinister voices; there were tanks full of brains and eyeballs. There was a dead man with the head of a baby distilled in magical solution. She didn’t want to imagine what had happened to him. 

The torchlight trembled as she rushed past. She couldn’t trip. She couldn’t slow down. Clowes was smart enough not to throw curses at her in this place, but it was only a matter of time before he grew reckless. 

She burst into an auditorium, all cold stone. “I’m in here!” she screamed just in case they could hear her. A curse grazed her head and she threw herself out of the way. “Help!” she screamed again.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Clowes said behind her. “You haven’t a clue what you will wake up.” 

“Fuck you!” she answered just because it felt good. She quickly realized she was trapped; all the doors out of the auditorium were locked and didn’t respond to charms. 

Clowes stalked closer, enjoying her panic. He whirled his wand between his fingers, almost carefree. A nasty smirk twisted his lips. “Cry all you want, Parkinson. No one will hear you.”

She spun to face him, her wand pointed at him. “You just said I might wake something up.”

He began to answer, but she shot a stunner at his face and sprinter in the other direction. He fell to the floor, she heard his body hit the floor, but he staggered to his feet and chased after her. 

He was too fast. He was using magic to run faster, a charm she didn’t know, and fear clawed at her throat. _Where were the others?_

“Help!” Her voice was a shriek. She didn’t expect an answer, but it comforted her to scream, the effect loud and ringing, taking up space. 

Then something did answer: A shaking, reverberating _bang_. Pansy and Clowes paused, their eyes going to a large archway that contained an old stone door. There was another bang, and dust and stone rained down from the door. 

Whatever it was, Pansy wasn’t going to wait around to greet it. She shot another stunner at Clowes, surprising him again. He flung aside, her spell skimming him. She ran in the other direction, not knowing where she was going. Something yanked at her ankle and fell to the ground, skinning both her knees. 

“Enough,” Clowes growled. He grew closer, his wand pointed at her. He was capable of murder. She _knew_ he was capable of it. She steeled herself. Ever since becoming an Auror, she knew dying young was a possibility. She was ready to die if it meant stopping Clowes. Hermione and Potter were bound to nab him, even if they had to recover Pansy’s corpse afterward.

“ _Crucio_ ,” he said.

Pain exploded through Pansy; she cried out and writhed. Her head was full of flames, her limbs shaking and shaking. She was going to sick up; she felt the torture pushing up her food, trying to empty her guts. She had experienced this curse before in her first year as an Auror. She and Potter had faced down a wand counterfeiter, desperate enough to use an Unforgivable on them. The curse had been weak compared to this one, and she hated that Clowes was such a strong wizard. 

“Want more?” There was a smile in Clowes’ voice, but Pansy couldn’t open her eyes. She gasped and tried to center herself. She was in the Department of Mysteries. She was an Auror. She was waiting for Hermione. She was waiting for Potter and Weasley. They would be here any moment. 

Another huge bang echoed through the chamber, followed by a tsunami of stone and dust. The wall gaped open, revealing a ghost the size of a house. It drifted toward them, its mouth like a Dementor’s mouth, sucking and sucking. Pansy watched from the floor, too stunned from the Cruciatus Curse to protect herself.

Clowes swerved to face the ghost. He cast a _Protego_ but the ghost swatted it away. 

“Surrender now,” the ghost boomed.

“It’s a trick,” Clowes said, his eyes darting. He looked aghast, confused, but determined. He wasn’t about to give everything up to this giant phantom.

“Surrender now or face death.” The ghost floated closer, filling the chamber like a storm cloud. There was the sound of thunder, the clash of energy.

“ _Protego!_ ” Clowes shrieked. He cast a shield almost as big as the ghost, but it flickered weakly.

Pansy raised herself to her feet. She wobbled and swayed, but she aimed her wand at Clowes and yelled _Stupefy!_ just as the ghost waved another enormous arm. Clowes was hit twice, knocked back, and his shield disappeared. 

“ _Crucio!_ ” Clowes snarled, and the curse hit the ghost and made it pop out of existence. Behind it, the hand under the puppet, was Hermione. She looked so small after the giant ghost. Sweat streamed down her face; she was breathing hard and wincing. It seemed the curse had touched her, if not overtaken her. 

Pansy struggled forward. She sent curse after curse at Clowes, not wanting him to hurt Hermione. He swerved, not sure who to give his attention. They circled him, and Hermione was shooting hexes at him. He was agile and strong, and their magic kept missing him.

> Image Description: A drawing of three figures. Hermione is in the foreground and Pansy further back. They both have their wands raised and pointed at a man in a blue coat who stands between them. Purple swirls come from their wands. From behind Pansy, two more people approach. Art by [pygmy-Puffy](https://pygmy-puffy.tumblr.com).

“ _Diffindo!_ ” Weasley came from nowhere and his spell hit Clowes in the back. 

“Thanks!” Pansy yelled.

Stumbling, Clowes tried snarling a curse, but Pansy and Hermione together said, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

Clowes fell to the ground, barely conscious and bleeding. 

“Quick! Contain him!” Potter leaned against the wall and breathed harshly.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Weasley said. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

Clowes lay like a statue, his eyes unmoving. 

Pansy spat and said to him, “Everything you deserve.” 

Hermione grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Are you all right? I was so scared.”

“Yes,” Pansy said, kissing her knuckles. “Are you injured?”

“No, just a bit rattled.” Hermione gazed at Harry worriedly. 

“He will recover. You can go to St Mungo’s with him and make sure he gets the best treatment.” Pansy kissed her forehead. “I thought Clowes hurt you when he stopped the ghost.”

“No, Morgan protected me. I don’t know how it worked, but she did.”

Pansy frowned. “The bulb?”

Footsteps thundered in the chamber. It was Robards with a team of Aurors and Unspeakables, looking mad as hell.

“What in the bloody name of Merlin is going on here?” he said.

“Sir,” Potter said, “I can explain.”

Robards caught sight of Pansy. “Parkinson! Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead.”

“I can explain that too,” she said, “but first my friends need some assistance. I think Potter is injured.”

Robards blinked. “Is that _Chade_? Why is he immobilized?”

“Sir, let us explain.” Wincing, Potter strode over to him and took him by the shoulders. “Let’s go back to your office.”

“You come too, Parkinson!”

Pansy kissed Hermione. “Get yourself out of here.”

Hermione clung to her. “Don’t let him push you around. I know some good solicitors if he doesn’t believe you!”

“Thanks, love.” Pansy kissed her again and followed Robards and Potter out.

Hermione went up to an Unspeakable and handed the Oracle Bulb to her. “You’ll be wanting this back,” she said cheerfully. The Unspeakable looked dumbfounded.

*

After her interview with Robards, Pansy went home to her flat. It had taken a few hours, but Robards finally accepted that Clowes was responsible for all the theft and violence. He’d refused to believe it until Potter told him to pull his head out of his arse.

Pansy left thinking that she’d been right to not go to Robards initially. Potter was the only one who could have served some truth to that grumpy old Auror. 

She knew Hermione had gone with Potter to hospital, but she didn’t have it in her to follow. She just wanted her bed. 

When she landed in her living room, she started when she saw Draco sitting on her sofa.

“Hello,” Draco said, twirling his wand. “I’ve been waiting here for _ages_.”

She rushed to him and he welcomed her in his arms. She cried on his shoulder.

“You arse,” she said, voice wet and muffled, “it’s been months!”

“I heard you had a bit of a dust up at the Ministry.”

She slapped his arm. “You utter beast. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“I have some idea,” he said softly. 

She wiped at her tired eyes. “Don’t worry. Your _boyfriend_ is fine.”

Draco stiffened. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Merlin,” she said, and pulled away. “I’m too knackered to deal with your stupidity.”

He grabbed her hand and urged her back to his shoulder. He combed his fingers through her tangled hair. “Shh. This isn’t about me. I was worried for you.”

“Afraid I had gotten myself blown up?”

“Yes,” he said.

She sighed and curled up against him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I’ve been through so much. You haven’t a clue.”

“You were missing, Pans. We were all so worried.”

“You didn’t try to find me.”

“I looked at your flat. I looked at your old shag pad with Lucy or Jessica or whatever. I even went to your mum’s.”

Pansy groaned. “Not my mum. We haven’t talked in years.”

“I know, but I was desperate enough to look. It was awkward.”

She didn’t have the strength to imagine Draco with her mum. “Why didn’t you send me a Patronus?”

“Most people don’t know how to cast that spell, you know. I tried and it didn’t work.”

“I want my bed,” she murmured.

“I’ve got you.” Draco helped her to her bedroom, which was dusty and cold. She was sad that Circe wasn’t waiting for her. 

He freshened her duvet and sheets with a spell, and fluffed up her pillows by hand. 

“I’m covered in dirt.” She climbed into bed and closed her eyes.

Draco cast a few cleaning spells on her, and she smelled a wonderful lavender. “Sleep now. Don’t fret.”

She grabbed his hand before he could leave. “Go to Potter,” she said. “He was injured. He’s at St Mungo’s. He would want to see you.”

Frowning, he began to speak, but she cut him off. “ _Listen to me_ ,” she said. “Go to him. He wants you.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Thank Merlin.” She laid back and closed her eyes. She was asleep in the next moment.

*

The next day, Pansy was puttering about her small kitchen when an owl arrived. She expected it to be Robards, demanding another interview, but it was from Weasley.

_Come to St Mungo’s. Everyone is waiting for you. -RW_

She frowned. She doubted Potter was holding his breath to see her.

Pocketing the note, she finished her coffee and went to put on some clothes. She had showered earlier and she was stiff from all the dueling, but she could still make herself look presentable. 

Reporters swam the first level of St Mungo’s. They were all buzzing about _Harry Potter_ injured in a battle with a corrupt Unspeakable. She rolled her eyes. Of course he was getting all the credit. 

It took a lot of pestering, but she finally convinced hospital staff to show her to his room. When she arrived, she found Draco and Hermione at his bedside. Draco was smiling and holding his hand.

“Pansy!” Hermione jumped up to welcome her.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly.

“I’m so glad you’re here! We were all wondering if you were okay.”

“I’m sore, but it’s nothing bad.”

Draco smirked. “I took your advice.”

“I can see.” She approached the bed. “How are you holding up, Potter?”

“Still a little fuzzy, but I’ll manage.” He was grinning. He looked very happy. 

“Do you both forgive me now?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I was just being a pillock. Harry and I had to work out some differences and it was easier to blame you.”

“What?” Potter said.

Draco kissed his cheek. “I’ll explain later.”

Weasley was in a chair in the corner. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a healer?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, appreciating his concern. “Thanks for the owl.”

“What owl?” Hermione said.

“You know, Parkinson,” Weasley interrupted. “You should come around to my shop sometime. We could have lunch or a pint. Strictly friendly.”

“Merlin, I’d hope so.” Pansy pretended to gag and Weasley laughed. 

“Do you think you’ll be sacked?” Hermione asked her. “We were just discussing it.”

“I don’t really care,” Pansy said. “I’m done with getting cursed.”

Potter sat up in bed. “I’ll quit if Robards tries to sack you!”

“Calm down, Potty. Nobody is asking you to be the savior.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

Hermione took her hand. “Come on, Pans. I want you to take me home.”

Draco and Potter shot each other looks. Weasley shifted in his seat.

“You lot can fuck off.” She pulled Hermione to the door. She was so nervous she couldn’t look at her.

“You are shaking,” Hermione said softly. 

They stepped into the lift, which was thankfully empty.

“I hope you will let me shag you when we get home.”

Hermione blushed. “Yes.”

Pansy pushed her against the wall and kissed her deeply. The door opened and they jumped apart. A healer blinked owlishly and joined them. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” the healer said.

Hermione tried to muffle her laughter. 

When they made it back to Hermione’s house, Circe rushed to greet them. She barked and wagged her tail, but Pansy only petted her briefly before kissing Hermione.

Hermione moaned into her mouth. “Please,” she whispered.

“Merlin, I want you.”

“I never thought this would happen.”

Pansy kissed her chin. “I thought you were straight.”

“I know.” Hermione guided Pansy to her bedroom. She shut the door on the dog. “Sorry, Circe. We don’t want company.” Circe cried for a moment, then padded back to the sofa. 

Pansy pushed her onto the bed. She buried her face in her hair. “I love your curls. I love the way you smell.”

“Please,” she said again.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Pansy mouthed along her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you. We went through a lot yesterday.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “No more excuses. I’m tired of not letting myself have what I want.”

“Oh, Hermione.” Pansy unbuttoned her robes, then her blouse and bra underneath. Hermione’s nipples were a lovely brown. She took one into her mouth, sucking, licking. 

Hermione arched her back and began to pant. “Oh, fuck.”

“Tell me if you don’t like this.” Pansy bit down, and Hermione panted harder. Pansy worried her nipple, watching her face. She wanted to see a flicker of pain. She did the same to the other nipple. 

Pansy kissed down her trembling stomach. “I wonder if you’re dripping for me. What do you think?”

Hermione tried to speak. She was stuttering. “I want you to eat it.”

“Eat what, sweetheart?” Pansy sounded bratty. 

Hermione glared. “My cunt.”

Pansy removed her trousers and knickers. She was shocked. “You shaved for me?”

Biting her lip, Hermione said, “I was hoping to see you today.”

“Merlin, you really wanted it.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Pansy tongued her bare lips. She shivered and squeezed her own thighs together. Fuck, she’d missed this. 

Hermione thrashed. “ _Please_.”

“Tell me,” Pansy said, sucking on her outer lips. 

“I want your tongue.”

“How?”

Hermione gulped. “Inside me.”

Groaning, Pansy spread her lips to lick her clit. Hermione arched into her mouth. She licked again and again, tracking how the nub swelled. She sucked it hard.

“Fuck!”

“Let’s see how wet you are,” Pansy said lowly. She thrust two fingers inside. “Merlin, they went in so easily. Can you even feel it?”

“Pansy.”

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?”

“Both.”

“Good girl.” She gauged Hermione’s reaction and was relieved when she seemed to like it. 

“ _Please._ ”

Pansy thrust in and out. She curled her fingers, searching for that sweet spot. She added her tongue, licking deep inside, tasting salt. 

Hermione was moaning. She was trembling. She rocked against her mouth.

Pansy lived for this. She lived to pleasure women like this, to taste them like this. She loved making them orgasm so hard they fell asleep afterward. 

“I’m going to come,” Hermione said, twisting.

“Are you sure?” Pansy quickened her fingers. 

“Yes!”

Pansy reached deep and massaged her velvety walls. She sucked her clit, wanting it to tip Hermione over the edge. Hermione squeezed down on her fingers and stilled. She came silently, her mouth open, her eyes twisted closed.

When she calmed down, Pansy withdrew and her come webbed her knuckles. She wanted to ask Hermione to lick her fingers clean, but they would have to work up to that.

“God,” Hermione said, her chest beating up and down. She looked dazed.

Pansy couldn’t stop smiling. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, stretching. She suddenly looked a bit embarrassed. “Your face is all wet.”

“So are my knickers.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Do you want me to finger you? I’m a bit out of practice.”

“I want you to do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” she said, suddenly looking devilish. “Take off your clothes.”

“Yes, madam.” Pansy pulled off her robes and underthings and threw them to the floor. She laid on the pillows and let Hermione see everything she had.

Hermione’s gaze was wide. She cupped her breast, then moved down her stomach to touch her pubic hair. 

“I’m not as _groomed_ as you.”

“I don’t care.” Hermione was panting. She played with her labia, then her clit. She tongued her belly button and kissed down to her thighs. 

Hermione licked her. Pansy hissed. She did it again. The licks weren’t focused, but she flattened her tongue, and it was so wet and warm. Fuck, it was good.

“Wow,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?”

“God, _this_ is what I needed.”

“Pussy?” Pansy arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Hermione licked her again, then summoned the courage to penetrate her with her tongue. Pansy moaned loudly and widened her thighs.

Hermione slid two fingers into her. Pansy gritted her teeth. It’d been a while.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, just -” Pansy reached down to work her clit. The pain lessened. “Okay, you can fuck me hard.”

Grunting, Hermione quickened her fingers. She curled up and massaged. 

Pansy was trembling. She was already on the brink. It’d been so long since she was fucked and it was so good. She was being fucked by _Hermione Granger_ , and she couldn’t believe it. 

Her orgasm hit her hard, and it made her vision go white. Her stomach clenched, the pleasure pooling through her. Merlin, she was going to cry. Everything was okay. She was finally _safe_.

Hermione held her and Pansy panted into her neck. They were both so sweaty. Pansy closed her eyes. She drifted off and started awake when Hermione spoke.

“Hmm?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Go for it,” Pansy said sleepily. 

“I know this is abrupt, but I was hoping you would move in with me.”

Pansy shifted so she could look at her, but Hermione wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“You know,” Pansy said, kissing her breast, “I never thought I’d want to leave London, but I would miss your garden too much to say no.”

Hermione laughed. Her face was full of relief. “What about me? Would you miss me or are you dating me just for my plants?”

“And your dog.” Pansy pretended to blow a kiss to Circe.

“Oh, shut up!” Hermione rolled on top of her and kissed her.

“I have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I get to change the wallpaper.”

They both laughed.


End file.
